The Poisoned Crown
by Captain Weirdo
Summary: The monarch was murdered. Who'll save the Queen?
1. Chapter 1

**It's almost a new year, so here's a new story. **

**Thanks in abundance to Mellie D for her extraordinary skills as an editor. She's got a real future in that field! **

**I wouldn't need a field if I owned these characters or made any money from this. I buy a whole country and install myself as Queen. Then I'd hire a really fine lookin' security chief, someone with a bit of an accent and maybe a tinge of the mysterious... But alas, I own nothing and shan't be quitting my day job anytime soon. **

**Enjoy!**

"I think we are in agreement, gentlemen. The coastal patrols are proving effective and will continue," Clarisse Renaldi said with an air of finality. She smiled warmly at the assembled group of military and police officials. "Captain Roque will compile the reports from the various agencies involved and we will formulate any changes that need to be made to this program as it progresses. If you would continue to funnel your reports to him, we will do our best to streamline this process."

Murmurs of agreement came from all sides of the conference table.

"Very well, then." The Queen stood and gathered her paperwork. "Thank you for your time and attention, gentlemen. I appreciate your hard work and effort in keeping our shores clear of criminal activity."

Those in attendance broke into polite applause as the Queen swept from the room, followed by her assistant, Charlotte and Joseph Romero, the Head of Security.

The assembled law-enforcement and military officers began to gather their belongings and broke into private conversations as they exited the meeting room. Joseph heard someone call his name as he followed the Queen from the conference room.

The voice belonged to Captain George Roque of the Genovian Investigative Force. He was the senior officer in charge of the force's drug interdiction efforts. The coastal patrols were a large part of those efforts.

Roque was a large man with a smile that matched his stature. His brown hair seemed to wage a war against the confines of its short clipped style and his jaunty moustache was equally unruly.

"Glad to see you, Joe," he said as his hand dwarfed Joseph's in a hearty handshake. "I miss having you on my team. Any chance of getting you to come back to work for me?"

Joseph noted that the Queen had stopped to talk with a small group of military officials who'd attended the meeting. He turned his attention to his friend. "Not a chance George. I've got it too good at the palace. The coffee is always fresh here. "

"I can't compete with that," Roque laughed. "We're making good progress on this problem. If we keep at it, these crooks will eventually decide it's just too much trouble to try to get their drugs into Europe through Genvoiva. They'll move on."

"True. I wish they could be eradicated altogether, but I suppose getting them to leave is the best we can hope for at this point" Joseph replied.

Roque continued in a quieter tone. "I'm just glad that Her Majesty is willing to do something about this. Turning a blind eye to the goings on, as was the case with the Palace under King Rupert, certainly didn't help."

Joe nodded simply.

"Listen, Joe," Roque said in the same quiet tone. "Stay in touch with me on this, will you? You know as well as I do that our efforts are hurting the pocketbooks of some of the nobility. They were making some good income from allowing smugglers access to their coastal lands." He paused and cleared his throat. "Some of them might see Her Majesty's program as a threat to their livelihoods, not to mention their _recreation_, in some cases. I'm not saying that they have any intention of harming the Crown, but they won't go down without a fight. The Queen has taken a strong stand against this drug cartel, one that is long overdue, and I don't want her to be caught unaware in a backlash of all of this. These men, whoever they are, have plenty of money – money that can buy anyone or anything for any purpose."

"You mean the Von Trokens," Joseph said firmly.

"Among others, yes. These people won't think twice of taking out anyone standing in the way of their goals. Regardless of whom it is."

"That thought had occurred to me as well. Trust me, George, there is nothing more important to me than Her Majesty's safety," He glanced over at the Queen before returning his gaze to Roque. His eyes were flint hard as he spoke. "Nothing."

ooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooo

After seeing the Queen safely ensconced in her office, Joseph descended the staircase to the first floor, accompanying Roque to the entrance. As they neared the bottom of the stairs, a cheerful voice called up to them.

"Joe! Captain Roque! How marvelous to see you both!" The voice belonged to Lord Andre Sadique, a long-time friend of the Queen whose easygoing, friendly manner made him a favorite of the staff as well as the royal family. Sadique was the nephew of one of King Rupert's schoolmates. He had inherited the family estate when his uncle died at a young age without producing heirs of his own. He also had extensive holdings in other countries, including his mother's estate in France. He split his time between the two countries and enjoyed frequent visits to the palace during the time he spent in Genovia.

"Good afternoon, Lord Andre." Joseph greeted him warmly. He paused at the bottom of the staircase while the guards on duty at the door ran scanners over the packages Sadique brought with him.

Andre Sadique was a tall man of indeterminate age whose unruly blonde hair seemed determined to flop down into his eyes, regardless of how it was styled. It gave him a certain boyish charm, which complimented his personality. He ran a hand through his mane as he reached out to shake hands with the men.

"What brings you to the palace, sir?" Joseph asked genially.

"I'm just back from Bavaria and Her Majesty had asked me to keep an eye out for a particular type of lace that she wanted. I've no idea what she wants it for – doilies or something, I'm sure!" Sadique's carefree, happy manner was infectious. Roque and Joseph couldn't help but smile.

"A type of lace?" Roque asked. "There's more than one kind?"

"Evidently, my good man! So, what have I missed? You two look like you've been up to some sort of official business." Sadique grinned broadly. "Or did you just need an excuse to get together to sample Her Majesty's liquor supply? And if it's the latter, surely you have room for a third?"

Roque laughed. "No such luck, sir! We've been working on Her Majesty's drug interdiction program. It's going rather well, it seems. The smuggling traffic through Genovia has been seriously curtailed."

"Ah, yes! I've heard Von Troken complain about this on more than one occasion," Sadique said.

"If he would keep his land closed to the smugglers, we wouldn't have to bother him to such a degree," Roque growled.

"Anything that ruffles the feathers of my Von Troken cousins can't be all bad," Sadique laughed.

Joseph smiled. "You shouldn't let us detain you Lord Andre. I'm sure Her Majesty is looking forward to seeing you."

"I'm sure she is too, Joe," he answered. "But she doesn't know I am coming today. I thought I'd surprise her." He executed a jaunty step-turn and headed for the stairway. "Will I see you again before I leave, Joe?"

"I'm certain of it, sir. Especially if you happen to stop by the kitchen on the way out. I might find my way into some of those liquor supplies you mentioned earlier."

"I'll be there!" Lord Sidique promised and then bounded up the stairs.

Roque shook his head as he contemplated the retreating figure. "That man has entirely too much energy."

"Entirely," Joseph agreed with a smile. "However, he never fails to make Her Majesty laugh."

oooooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooo

Later that afternoon, Joseph made his way to the Queen's office to drop off paperwork on two upcoming retirements from the security division. The retirement forms required the Queen's signature as well as his own. Charlotte was hard at work at her desk as Joe entered and the door to the Queen's private office was closed.

"Hi, Joe!" Charlotte grinned up at him as he tossed the file onto her desk. "Bringing me more work?"

"As always," he replied, taking the seat opposite Charlotte's desk. He indicated the closed door with his hand. "Is she still shut up in there with Lord Sadique?"

"No, he left just a few minutes ago. Now she's trying to catch up on all the work she would've done if he hadn't been here."

"She really likes him, doesn't she?" Joseph asked in what he hoped was a perfectly nonchalant tone of voice.

"Yes, she does, but not like you mean – much to his chagrin," Charlotte couldn't help but smile.

"What way do I mean?" he asked, somewhat surprised.

"She enjoys his company. He's a link to her past in a lot of ways. He was a friend of King Rupert as well as the Princes. He has been a regular at the palace for years, from what I know of him. I think he's someone she can relive old memories with, someone to simply chat with about her family."

"I'm sure you're right. He's always so friendly, it's impossible not to like him," Joseph said.

"He's certainly a charmer," Charlotte agreed. She grinned mischievously. "I think he has the hots for Her Majesty."

Joseph cocked an eyebrow at her and all but snorted. "Isn't he a bit young for that?"

Charlotte laughed out loud. "What's wrong with younger men and older women, Joe? I think it's kind of sexy!" Joseph's face went red. "Besides," she continued, "he's really not much younger than you. Maybe only a couple of years."

Charlotte was immensely enjoying her friend's obvious discomfort at this line of discussion. It wasn't often she got to see him flustered like this. As he seemed to be searching unsuccessfully for a reply to her last statement, she finally took pity on him.

"Don't worry, though," she said.

"Worry? About what?" Joseph asked, a little too quickly.

Charlotte giggled. "I think she thinks of him more as a relative, perhaps, than as a _friend_." Charlotte's subtle emphasis on the word friend wasn't lost on Joseph.

"How can you be so sure?" Joseph queried. "Her Majesty doesn't disclose her personal feelings to anyone. You can't possibly know who she might or might not be, uh, interested in."

Charlotte rolled her eyes at him. _'Honestly!'_ she thought. _'Sometimes this is just like being back in the 7__th__ grade.'_ She grinned at Joseph. "I know because I asked her!"

"You _asked_ her?" He was somewhat shocked. He waited a moment for Charlotte to continue. When she didn't, he began to get the idea that she was toying with him. He slouched down into his chair and grinned at her. "Ok, I'll bite. I admit I'm curious. What did she say?"

"Well, truthfully, I would never have been so presumptuous as to just ask her about him, but one day when Lord Sadique was here they'd been out for a walk in the gardens and when she came back inside she looked positively radiant. He had already left the palace and she was humming when she came back here to finish her work. I merely said I thought she looked very happy and relaxed." Charlotte leaned back in her chair and pulled at the hem of her jacket, a move that was an unconscious imitation of her employer. "She said Andre always has that effect on her. I screwed up my courage and said he certainly seemed to enjoy her company as well and did that mean we would be seeing more of him?"

Joseph unwittingly scooted closer to the edge of his chair.

"She said no, even though he might have other ideas. I believe her exact words were something like 'He might like to be more than just a good friend, but I could never think of him in that way.'"

Joseph seemed to relax back into the chair once again.

"She was in such a good mood and I have to admit I was deeply curious, so I asked why not. She laughed and told me that he was like a brother to her and no matter how attractive he might be; they could never be more than just good friends." Charlotte chuckled and Joseph joined her.

"You know, they do sort of look alike," he mused with a grin. Then his voice became more sober. "Do you suppose it's possible to know someone too well to be attracted to them?"

"Well, yes, in some cases," she said. She almost laughed out loud at the look of disappointment on his face. Just then the door to the Queen's office opened and Clarisse stepped out to hand Charlotte a file.

"Hello Joseph," she said, her rich voice wrapping itself all around the syllables of his name. She looked from one to the other of them. "You two certainly seem to be deep in conversation. Am I missing something important?" She leaned against the doorjamb and removed her reading glasses.

"Nothing, Your Majesty," Joseph said as he jumped to his feet. His manner was suddenly nervous.

"Ah. Well, is there anything I can do for you?" she asked, toying with the glasses in her hand.

"No, nothing. Nothing at all." He again spoke too quickly and didn't quite meet her gaze. Charlotte watched as Clarisse regarded him thoughtfully for a long moment, before gathering herself up and turning back towards her office.

"Very well. I'll see you later then."

"Goodbye, Your Majesty. Have a nice afternoon." His reply was lost as she closed the door behind her.

Charlotte just shook her head. Really, this situation was just too ridiculous some days. Joseph was almost out the door, heading for his office, when she called to him. "Joe!"

"Yes?"

"Sometimes friends know each other too well to be attracted to one another. But other times I think people who know each other very well mistake that attraction for just friendship when in reality it is much deeper than that."

He considered her words, then smiled at her, nodded and left the office. She could hear him whistling as he walked away down the hall.


	2. Chapter 2

A week later, Clarisse was hard at work in her office. The weather outside had been crisp and cool but as the day wore on, clouds rolled in and the afternoon turned misty and chilly. Fall had arrived in Genovia. The Queen skipped her usual afternoon break in the gardens and chose to work straight through.

It was nearing the end of the day when a knock sounded at her door, followed by Charlotte opening it quickly and stepping inside. Clarisse looked up and was surprised by her normally unflappable assistant's harried expression.

"I'm so sorry to disturb you, ma'am, but Baron Von Troken is here and he insists on seeing you."

Clarisse looked at the calendar on the corner of her desk. "I don't remember having an appointment with the Baron," she remarked evenly.

"You don't ma'am. I told him you were very busy and there was no way you could see him without an appointment. But he's very agitated and insistent on seeing you." Charlotte cleared her throat slightly. "Um, now."

"Oh, really?" Clarisse's tone was coldly sarcastic. "We'll just see about that." She stood up and started to come around to the front of the desk.

"I called for Joseph, ma'am."

"Oh, tosh! If I can't handle the Baron on my own, them I am seriously slipping, my dear." Clarisse replied lightly.

Charlotte nodded somewhat nervously and held the door for the Queen.

Clarisse breezed into the outer office and was immediately accosted by the small, dark haired man. He was extremely agitated.

"Your Majesty, we must speak! At once!" He took a quick breath and launched into his spiel before Clarisse had a chance to reply. "Your coastal patrol is destroying my business! You have no right to let your thugs roam my property, cutting off my import business! How do expect your subjects to keep paying you taxes if you are going to strip them of their livelihoods?"

Clarisse held up a hand. "Stop! I am not going to discuss this with you now, Baron. I merely came out here to tell you to either make an appointment, as you were already asked to do, or to drop the matter and leave. This is a discussion for another time and I have work that cannot be neglected. If you wish to maintain the security clearance which allows you to visit the palace, please see to it in the future that you respect the instructions of my staff. When Charlotte tells you I'm busy," she leaned slightly closer to him and her voice deepened, "that means _I'm busy_." She turned on her heel to leave.

"No!" Adolphus Von Troken's voice was both desperate and harsh. "You must--!"

"I have work to do, Baron! Good day." Clarisse's voice had a cold finality as she stepped into her office and slammed the door behind her.

The baron turned to Charlotte who merely shrugged her shoulders. He started to speak, but was interrupted by a not-so-friendly pat on the back.

"I believe you should call Her Majesty's office about your appointment, sir," Joseph said evenly. "It would be more prudent than remaining here any longer."

Von Troken caught the look in Joseph's eyes and knew better than to argue. He sputtered something unintelligible and scurried out of the office.

"Thanks, Joe," Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief.

"No problem. I'll go back to security and make sure he leaves the grounds. Call me if you need me."

Charlotte nodded and went back to work.

In the security office, Joseph watched the fleeing baron leave the estate. As the gates closed behind the man, Joseph let out a sigh. The baron was normally a bottom feeder, content to whine and complain while living off the backs of others. What could've happened that lit a fire under him and brought him straight to Her Majesty's door?

oooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooooo

A few days later George Roque was enjoying a cup of coffee in Joseph's office, while exchanging information and going over reports from the task force. Roque had a hearty laugh, one fitted perfectly to his size and personality. It was also a contagious laugh. Joseph couldn't help joining him, even though he'd heard the joke before, and hadn't found it particularly funny the first time.

While George wiped his streaming eyes on his sleeve, Joseph perused the information Roque had provided him. "Looks good, George," he said. "You've made some significant arrests and boat traffic along the coast seems to be decreasing."

"Yes, we're making good progress and it's making a difference. We're beginning to step on toes. I'm starting to hear rumblings," Roque replied.

"What do you mean?"

"Phone calls, chance meetings, that sort of thing. Important people who want to make sure that everything is being done to stop the scourge of drugs coming through this country, but who also just happen to be interested in when they can expect the security forces to leave their property or to abandon their posts at sea."

"I know. Baron Van Troken has already been here to complain to Her Majesty in person."

George laughed. "I would've liked to have seen that. He must be really upset to crawl out from under his rock long enough to make a complaint. He's not the only person I've heard from. Someone is leaning on the prosecutor, too. The local prosecutor's office is pushing me to take on liaison from the Pyrus police force, just to help insure accountability."

"Accountability?" Joseph asked, somewhat surprised. "Her Majesty is behind this program. How much more accountability do they need?"

"You're preaching to the choir, Joe. But somebody, somewhere, is nervous. They want me to work with Captain Albert deWinter. Do you know him?" George asked.

"No."

"Short guy, dark hair, mean eyes. Has a Napoleon complex, if you ask me. Came here a year or so ago from somewhere abroad. Has all sorts of big-time recommendations and the like. Evidently he's the darling of the prosecutor's camp. They want him in the middle of this task force so he can report directly back to them. I don't have much of a problem with it, but it smacks of political crap and I hate that."

"Don't we all," muttered Joseph. "What are you going to do?"

"I'll take him in – just because I don't like the game, doesn't mean I won't play it."

Joseph laughed appreciatively.

"We do what we gotta do, Joe. We can't all have a cushy job like yours," Roque teased.

"Cushy?" Joe grinned. "What do you mean by that?"

"C'mon! Don't deny it! All you have to do is bat those long Latin eyelashes of yours and Her Majesty does whatever you ask."

"Hardly," Joseph snorted. "Besides, Her Majesty is not the problem. It's the rest of the world that doesn't cooperate with what I ask that keeps me awake at night."

oooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Weeks later Joseph stopped in the palace kitchen to grab a quick breakfast of a bagel and a cup of coffee. He was pouring the coffee when one of the maids came in with the usual stack of daily newspapers. She tossed Joseph a copy of the Genovian Times before she carefully folded a second copy and added it to the breakfast tray she was taking upstairs to the Queen.

Joe smiled his thanks and spread the paper out on the table. He toasted the bagel, then munched on it as he silently perused the headlines. Halfway down the page, his eyes stopped on a photo of the Queen and former King. The King was smiling and waving to a crowd but the Queen was obviously unhappy and appeared to have fixed the back of her husband's head with a venomous gaze. The headline blared "New Allegations Surface: King's Death Called Into Question".

Joseph dropped his bagel.

Moments later he knocked on the door of the Queen's suite and, for once, entered without permission. He hoped against hope that she hadn't read the paper yet. The sitting room was empty, but the door to her bedroom was open and he could see that she was having her breakfast on the balcony.

He crossed the rooms in a few long strides. He was almost at the French doors when the teacup hit the ground and shattered. He paused and cursed under his breath before stepping out into the sunshine.

Clarisse jerked her head around as she heard him step out onto the balcony. Her eyes blazed. She gestured with the newspaper. "Have you seen this?" she demanded.

"Only the headline," he responded. "What does it say?"

She all but threw the newspaper at him as she stood up, crossing the balcony to lean out over the balustrade. Her ladies maids scurried about cleaning up the spill and bits of broken china.

Joseph read:

_At the time of the death of His Majesty, King Rupert, the cause of death was ruled as heart failure by the royal physician. Recently new information has come to light which may call into question the nature of that untimely death. _

_Sources close to the palace report that His Majesty left behind a letter with an attorney that was to be opened at the time of his death. The letter was quashed by the palace and its contents never made public. _

_Operating under condition of anonymity, our source has obtained a transcript of the letter and has released it to this newspaper. The letter states, in part, that His Majesty had been in fear of his life for some months immediately preceding his death three years ago. It requests an autopsy be performed upon his body when he died. _

_The contents of the letter include the name of person or persons suspected by His Majesty, but the information has been edited out in the copy provided to this paper. His Majesty's request for an investigation of his death was not honored. His death was ruled due to natural causes and no investigation was undertaken by either police or palace security forces. _

_As a result, this newspaper encourages Her Majesty and Parliament to open an investigation into the death of King Rupert in the interests of proving or disproving these allegations of the nature of his death.  
_

_If evidence is found to support the claims made by His Majesty, no effort should be spared to bring the guilty party to justice, no matter how high placed he or she may be in the Genovian government._

He raised his eyes from the newsprint to Clarisse's angry gaze.

"What is going on here, Joseph?" she asked.

"I have no idea."

"Look at that picture! And the quote 'no matter how high he or _she _may be in the Genovian government'. They might as well scream it in the headline – Queen Kills King and Steals the Throne!" She slammed her hand down on the railing. "What is going on here?" she asked again.

Shaking his head, Joseph rose from his seat. "This story is so flimsy, I find it hard to believe that The Times would even bother to acknowledge it, much less take a chance on printing it."

"It's just vague enough to keep me from suing them for slander," Clarisse said. "If I make a move, I will only be drawing attention to myself as – what? A suspect?! This letter doesn't even exist," she said, thinking aloud. "He would have mentioned it before he died. That's the point of this type of thing, isn't it? Everyone knows he died of heart failure…"

"Someone is going to a lot of trouble here, Your Majesty. This smells of blackmail. Otherwise, I can't imagine a respected newspaper such as this would write such a thing."

"Why? What do they hope to gain?"

"I have no idea. But I will find out," was his grim-faced reply.

"Good. Go, then," she said, somewhat absently. "I have to get to my office."

He hesitated before speaking again. "Your Majesty, maybe you should keep a low profile today – stay out of the office. Charlotte is certain to be besieged with phone calls and reporters."

"Nonsense, Joseph. I have work to do. This blasphemy is not going to keep me from it."

He started to argue, but she cut him off with a smile. "I appreciate that you want to protect me from this." She reached out to him and patted his forearm. "So go – find out what is going on. I need your help."

He met her gaze, tempted to lose himself in the blue depths. He drew back from the edge with a deep breath. "As you wish," he replied. He raised her hand to his lips for a long moment, then left her to her thoughts as he headed off in the direction of his office.

The frenzied, low-voiced conversation that was buzzing about the security office ceased when Joe opened the door. He could tell from the assembled group and the newspaper scattered on the desk, what had been going on.

He raked his eyes around the room, meeting some gazes, being avoided by others. "Alright gentlemen, if you've read the paper you know everything that I know. Your job is to find out everything there is to know. Contact any sources you have. I want to know who is behind this smear job and what their motivation is. We are going to put a stop to it. If there is such a letter as what is alluded to in this story, I want to see it."

Within a half hour, Joseph had assigned men to numerous tasks and trails of investigation. He sent them on their way with a stern warning against gossip of any sort regarding the situation. The palace would not be acknowledging the story at this time and he fully expected his men to help him prove it as falsehood within days if not hours.


	3. Chapter 3

Joseph called Charlotte to verify that Her Majesty would not be leaving the palace that morning, and then headed for the garage to retrieve his car for a quick drive into town. He was headed to the newsroom of the Genovian Times.

When he arrived at the newspaper building, Joseph was shown directly into the editor's office. The editor, Roger Deforest, did not seem surprised by the visit. He motioned Joseph to a chair across from his desk.

"I don't have to ask why you're here, Mr. Romero." he admitted.

"The palace is very interested in the story you ran this morning," Joseph spoke quietly, which made his husky voice slightly threatening. "It doesn't seem to be in line with your normal journalistic standards. Care to explain?"

"I wish I could. This came straight from the top. Evidently one of our major stockholders insisted we run the story," Deforest explained.

"What about the letter? Have you any proof that it even exists?"

"I saw the letter. I certainly haven't authenticated it."

"Where is the letter now?" Joseph asked.

Deforest finished off the dregs of his coffee while regarding Joseph over the rim of the cup. "I have no idea. I was told it was being turned over to the authorities. I suppose that means the police. Listen, Romero, I know this story is crap. I would never have run this kind of thing on my own. Please express my apologies to Her Majesty. I didn't have a choice on this one."

Joseph favored him with a tight-lipped smile. "Her Majesty will appreciate that I'm sure, but you'll understand if I need a more than just an apology. How about the name of the stockholder who was so insistent on running this story?" Joseph raised his eyebrows questioningly.

Deforest grinned at him. "Three guesses. First two don't count."

"Adolphus Von Troken."

"You didn't hear it from me." Deforest smiled ruefully.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooo

"I don't know what you're talking about, Romero!" Baron Von Troken's voice cracked.

"You really don't want to lie to me, Baron," Joseph spoke quietly. He stood with his back to his host, hands clasped behind his back. He stared out the windows of the study where he'd been shown by a rather officiously aloof butler. Joseph's naturally intimidating presence was enhanced by the black leather trench coat and fedora that he had yet to remove. The sun was setting, bathing the rain-soaked landscape in dim light, enhancing the shadows.

"You can't accuse me! I've done nothing wrong," Von Troken was almost whining.

Joe turned slowly from the window. "Haven't you? I know full well what you've done. Where is the letter?"

"The letter?" He seemed ready to deny knowledge of it, but after seeing a muscle twitch in Joseph's jaw, he changed his mind. "You think I would keep that here?!" Von Troken tried to sound shocked. He didn't really succeed.

Joseph stepped away from the window and made his way to the desk the baron was cowering behind. "Yes, I do. I'm not going to take it from you, since it will become evidence in a criminal case, but I want to see it. Now." He leaned forward, gloved fists planted on the edge of the desk as he spoke.

Von Troken met his gaze for a moment, before looking away. He seemed to debate with himself before rising and crossing the room to an undisguised wall safe. He opened it and extracted a piece of paper, which he handed to Joseph.

Joseph took the paper over to the windows and held it up to the light. It was a sheet of official palace stationary and the signature looked authentic enough to his untrained eye. However, the letter itself was typewritten. As he started to read, his ears registered the sound of Von Troken's stealthy footsteps in the direction of the study door.

"Sit down, Baron," he said menacingly, not looking up from the letter. "Our business is not yet concluded. If you make me chase you, you will regret it."

The Baron scurried back to his desk.

Joseph continued to read. The letter had a whining, haranguing tone. It accused Clarisse of being hungry for power and having a desire to consolidate all authority for herself, without her husband being in the way. The letter warned that the Queen was eager for the death of the King so she could take over. Even if Phillipe were crowned in her place, she would still be the authority behind the throne and her son would be nothing more than a puppet. The letter also accused the Queen of being enamored with an unnamed member of parliament and she wished to be free of the King in order to pursue an affair with this man. All of this supposedly led Rupert to believe his wife was capable of engineering his murder and he requested that his body be autopsied following his death. The letter gave no hint of where it had been secreted or who held it prior to now.

He felt an angry knot forming in the pit of his stomach as he finished reading. The venom in the letter that was directed towards Clarisse was unsettling and didn't fit with the King Rupert that Joseph had known. To all outward appearances, King Rupert had been very fond of his wife and she of him, at least during the time Joseph had known them. He'd heard rumors, of course; rumors of infidelity and problems. But nothing that would account for the hate and distrust that filled whoever wrote this letter.

Joseph stepped over to the desk and laid the paper down. He took a small digital camera out of his coat pocket and took several photographs of the letter. Then he slid it across to the Baron.

"You'll want to put this in a safe place, I'm sure," he smiled. The Baron nodded mutely.

"Now then," Joseph said in the same deceptively soft voice, "we're going to talk about where you got this. And we're going to be truthful with each other. Isn't that right?"

"I don't have to tell you anything!" Von Troken squeaked.

"Maybe not," Joseph answered, his eyes glittering dangerously, "but it would be a very, very bad idea not to cooperate with me. The Crown has granted me a more than generous measure of diplomatic immunity. Therefore I'm not bound by the same laws that our police force sometimes finds cumbersome."

"Is that a threat?!" The Baron's voice was tinged with indignation.

"It is a statement of fact," Joseph replied. Before the Baron could speak again, he rounded the desk and hauled the man up by his lapels. He pushed him rather roughly up against the wall. "I'm not a man to be trifled with, Baron. I want to know where and when you got this and then I will leave you be. You have my word."

Von Troken searched the eyes that peered at him from under the brim of the dark hat. Finally he nodded and the hands pushing him backwards relaxed just a bit. "It came to me in the mail," he said. "There was no return address, just a note."

Joseph waited expectantly, tightening his grip slightly as the pause drug out. "I threw the note away!" Von Troken gasped. "It was signed simply Fierre. I don't know who that is. The note said I would be well paid if I turned the letter over to the newspaper. It said the letter is genuine and that Fierre was too frightened of the Queen and her goons," he eyed Joseph, "to turn it in himself. All I did was to send it to the newspaper."

Joseph's eyes searched those of the Baron. He could read the other man's fear, but there appeared to be no sign of deception. Disgustedly, he withdrew his hands and Von Troken slumped against the wall.

"I hope you were well paid, Baron, because this incident will certainly cost you dearly." With that, Joseph turned on his heel and strode from the room. Within moments he was back behind the wheel of his car and headed towards the palace.

ooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooo

"Baron Von Troken?" Clarisse asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

Joseph nodded. He still wore his coat, but reached up to remove his hat. He'd come directly to the Queen upon his return from the Von Troken estate.

"I don't know, Joseph. The Baron has never impressed me with his intellect. Is he capable of masterminding something like this?" She was slightly incredulous.

"I doubt it," Joseph replied, "but so far I have no other leads. The trail is cold, but we're not giving up."

"I have every confidence in you," she spoke softly and looked him full in the eyes.

He smiled at her, hoping to hide the tightness he felt in his chest when she looked at him like that. What did she see when she looked at him, he wondered? When she looked _into_ him? If he could have moved, he would have swept her into his arms and made passionate love to her until reality faded far, far away. But he couldn't move.

Clarisse smiled slightly, suddenly aware of what was going on between them. She squeezed his arm affectionately before turning away from him. Finding her voice she asked, "What happens next?"

"Next?" He cleared his throat and ran a hand over his face to hide the smile that crept up at the thought of how shocked she would be if he told her what he had in mind. "Next I meet with Roque and have him start a discrete investigation into the Baron's finances. That is often the best way to ferret out secrets."

She nodded somewhat absently, still looking out the window, rather than at her companion. "I don't understand any of this, Joseph. What could he possibly hope to gain by spreading such elaborate lies about Rupert and I?"

"Power? Revenge?" He stepped forward, resting his hands companionably on her shoulders. She reached up, placing her hand atop one of his.

"It just doesn't ring true. It's no secret that I have no use for the man, but I'm hardly alone in that opinion. That doesn't seem to be enough to warrant such a plot." She turned in his arms and searched his eyes for answers.

"Good point. I don't understand it either." He found himself trapped by the questions in the deep blue eyes of his Queen. She was looking to him for answers; something to ease her fears, give her comfort. He yearned to be able to give her that comfort. His voice was resolute as he said, "But I promise you I'll find out."

She was about to reply when the intercom on her desk buzzed a soft signal. Startled, Joseph dropped his arms; removing his comforting touch – as if he'd been caught playing with fire. Clarisse stepped away from him and reached out to push the button on her phone. "Yes, Charlotte?" she asked.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, ma'am, but Captain Roque from the GIF is on the phone for Joseph. He said Joseph left a message requesting to speak to him immediately?"

Joseph stepped closer. "I'll take the call in my office, Charlotte. Give me just a moment to get there."

"No problem." A soft click signaled the termination of the exchange.

Joseph looked at Clarisse, his gaze hard and purposeful. "I won't let them hurt you, Your Majesty."

She reached out and brushed her fingers down his cheek. "I know, Joseph."

He captured her hand in his and pressed a tender kiss to her palm, his eyes burning into hers. And with that, he was gone.

She watched his back until he was out of the door, her palm tingling from the kiss, then sighed heavily and began straightening her desk for the night.

"Your Majesty?"

Clarisse looked up to see Charlotte standing in the doorway. "Come in, Charlotte. Shouldn't you have left by now, dear?" she asked.

Charlotte smiled self-consciously. "Well, I don't have any plans for the evening and I thought you might need me."

"Thank you, but I think I am done for the day. In more ways than one," she sighed. Then she smiled at Charlotte. "How about dinner? I'm sure the chef could squeeze in another place on that gargantuan dinning table."

Charlotte grinned at her. "Sounds great. But you're sure I won't be disturbing you?"

"Not unless you want me to pass the salt. I don't have that kind of reach!" Both women laughed and left the office, headed for the dining room.


	4. Chapter 4

Clarisse couldn't stand it any longer. Her head was pounding and as much as she loathed admitting it, all she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and cry. She felt betrayed and horrified by what Parliament was considering. The idea made her practically nauseous. And it seemed that there was nothing she could do to prevent this from happening.

The session showed no signs of ending anytime soon, but she had to get out of there. The new parliament building was well insulated and held the heat. It may have been comfortable to everyone down on the floor, but from the Queen's seat on the raised podium it seemed stifling. She didn't want to make a fool of herself in front of her accusers, but she was going to be sick if she had to sit there and listen to them much longer. Desperation fueled her strong façade, but her mask was beginning to crack. Her hand shook noticeably when she reached for her water glass.

Just as she sat the glass back on the dais, the lights flickered once and went out. She almost cried out in relief. Not waiting for the backup generators to kick in, she left her seat and descended the few steps on the back of the platform to the hallway behind. She spoke to the Prime Minister's aide, telling him she was leaving.

Clarisse didn't even look for Joseph or her other security detail, but assumed they were following along behind. She did not register seeing Joseph running silently down a side corridor to join the group just before they left the building. The limo was on its way to the door and she had to wait only a minute before being handed into the back seat by her slightly breathless bodyguard.

She caught his eye just long enough to say "Home. Please." before he closed the door. By the time he got into the front seat next to the driver, she had already raised the privacy screen. The short drive to the palace was deathly quiet inside the long black car.

Clarisse didn't speak when Joseph opened the door for her on their arrival at the palace. Her head was down and her face seemed bathed in concentration, or perhaps pain. Clarisse didn't acknowledge him or the footmen who opened the entrance doors for her. She walked swiftly and purposefully towards her suite.

'_Just a few more steps,'_ she thought. Then she could lie down for a while; send for a cool compress for her head. The headache was verging on severe. She was getting dizzy, but she would be ok if she could just get inside and be alone; away from all their prying eyes. She would be ok if she could just shut the world out for a few minutes.

Joseph stayed at her heels, as close as he dared. There was no reason for him to stop her; she didn't have to tell him what was going on, certainly. But, quite honestly, he was concerned for her health. She'd gone pale and her gait was less than steady. Finally, when she reached the top of the stairs and he called to her. "Your Majesty?"

She ignored him. Or maybe she didn't hear him. There was no reaction at all. He spoke again, but she was already through the open door. She closed it behind her without looking back.

'_Thank God,'_ she thought. She shrugged out of her jacket, uncharacteristically letting it fall to the floor behind her. She stepped out of her shoes, also leaving them where they lay. As she headed for the couch, she stumbled slightly and almost fell. It was stuffy, hot. If she opened her blouse a few buttons, perhaps it would be cooler. As she worked at the buttons, she reached for the phone on the side table.

"Housekeeping," a crisp voice answered.

"Please send me some aspirins and a glass of water," her voice was surprisingly weak. The woman on the other end promised them right away and suggested a cup of tea as well. "Fine," was Clarisse's answer before she laid the phone down. She lay back on the couch, eyes closed tightly against the pain, hoping for sleep.

Minutes later, Joseph was still in the hallway outside Her Majesty's chambers when a maid approached with a tray.

"Her Majesty rang for you?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. She requested aspirin and a cup of tea."

"I'll take it in, if you don't mind," he told the maid, removing the tray from her hands. He knocked softly on the doors before entering Clarisse's sitting room. The jacket and shoes in the middle of the floor were screaming beacons that all was not right with the Queen. His eyes followed the trail of clothing to the couch where she lay. Her head was cradled in the crook of one arm. She might be sleeping, but her face was still twisted with pain.

Joseph set the tray on her coffee table, not sure whether or not to wake her. She would certainly want the painkillers. Although from the look on her face something stronger than a couple of aspirins seemed called for. He hesitated a moment, then picked up the phone. Moving to the far side of the room, he dialed the palace switchboard and requested the Queen's physician. He kept his voice hushed as he explained the situation to the doctor and asked for advice on what to do for her. Just as the conversation ended, he heard her voice.

"I thank you for your concern, but I can take care of myself, Joseph."

"I'm well aware of that, Your Majesty. But just because you can, doesn't mean you have to."

Her gaze was guarded and almost suspicious. She struggled into a sitting position, wincing as the pain in her head responded to the change. "I'm just not in the mood for company right now Joseph," she said.

His gaze was appraising as he studied her. "Maybe not, but if I leave you to your own devices, you will take the aspirin and try to force yourself to sleep on that couch, in those uncomfortable clothes. Your headache will get worse, and eventually you'll make yourself really sick. You won't eat anything, and when you come out of here in the morning, there will be huge dark circles under your eyes, which will make everyone think you spent the whole night in here crying. And they would no doubt be right."

She considered his words silently for a moment then softened a bit under his steady gaze. "How do you get by with being so insubordinate?" She smiled slightly.

"I don't know. Perhaps my employer is wise enough to recognize when she's receiving good advice from a friend." He winked at her.

"A friend," she repeated somewhat absently. "A friend would let me have the damn aspirin."

He laughed and handed her the pills and glass of water. As she took them, he poured her a cup of tea. "Why don't you go put on something more comfortable and then let me know if there is anything else you need before you go to bed?"

Clarisse nodded as she stood up and walked towards the bedroom door. She stopped with her hand on the knob and looked back over her shoulder at him. "Planning on tucking me in, Joseph?"

"I may just do that," he answered with the same joking yet challenging tone she had used. She laughed shortly and closed the bedroom door behind her.

Joseph left the suite a few minutes later, after telling Clarisse he would be back in a couple of hours to see if she felt like dinner. The footmen on duty outside the suite maintained their stoic countenance until they were sure he was out of earshot.

"Twelve minutes," Thomas said, glancing at his watch.

"That's not much time. And she wasn't in a good mood going in," mused Jean, the second footman. "What do you think?"

Thomas grinned. "I think not. Joe doesn't seem like the quickie type."

Jean matched his smile. "Yeah, you're probably right." The two men fell into silence again for several minutes. Finally Jean spoke again. "Too bad, though. Those two would both be happier if they just…you know…"

"I know," Thomas agreed with a smile.

ooooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooo

A few hours later, Joseph returned to the Queen's suite, this time carrying a tray with a light supper and a fresh pot of tea. He knocked lightly and entered without waiting for an answer.

The door to her bedroom was open, but her bed was made and appeared to have been unused. He glanced quickly around the sitting room and saw her curled up on a chaise lounge next to the fireplace. His eyes lingered momentarily on the v-neck of the soft cashmere sweater she wore. There was a book splayed open across her thigh. Her French poodle, Maurice, lay in a tightly curled ball behind her knees, seemingly half his body falling off the side of the chair. Maurice regarded Joseph sleepily as he entered the room.

"Some watch dog you are, Maurice," Joseph whispered. "You're supposed to at least bark when an intruder enters the room." He turned his back to them and set the tray carefully on the coffee table nearby.

"Don't disparage my dog," he heard Clarisse say sleepily from behind him. "He's just a very good judge of character."

When he turned around, she was rubbing her eyes with one hand and marking her place in her book with the other.

"Feel better?" he asked.

She smiled and nodded. "Are you giving up security in exchange for kitchen duty?" she asked, eyeing the tray he'd brought.

"No. But as part of my job to look after your personal well being, it is imperative to make sure that you maintain a proper level of sustenance," he told her. "I can't have you fainting dead away from hunger and lack of nutrition. What would people say?"

She laughed. "You are quite sneaky, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am. But to what, specifically, are you referring to?" he asked.

"You made the lights go out earlier today, didn't you? When I was in Parliament?"

He smiled, but didn't look at her. Instead he busied himself with arranging the items on her supper tray. When he finally looked up, she was smiling broadly at him. He matched her expression, the corners of his eyes crinkling merrily at her. He shrugged. "I thought you could use a break."

"Thank you, Joseph."

"You're welcome, Your Majesty." He indicated the tray. "Eat!"

"Yes, sir!" she responded, then waved her hand at the arm chair across from her. "Sit!"

"Yes, madam!"

He watched as she began to pick through the supper tray. He cleared his throat ominously when she gave half her sandwich to Maurice. She made a face at him in return. The conversation was light while she consumed her meal.

When she finished, she leaned back once again on the chaise. She regarded Joseph carefully, her expression somewhat closed. "I know why you're here."

He raised his eyebrows, but didn't reply. She continued, "Parliament has decided to allow the exhumation, haven't they? That's why you are so concerned about me tonight, isn't it?"

He met her gaze and realized it would be fruitless to try to keep anything from her. "Yes, they did. I'm sorry Clarisse. They will proceed with it as soon as possible, which, according to what I've been able to learn, will be on Friday morning. Captain deWinter is in charge. They will remove the body and take it to the medical examiner for toxicology testing."

Her eyes were now closed, but she nodded her head. "I assumed as much. Find out the details, Joseph. I want to be there when it happens."

"Do you think that's wise?" he asked quietly.

She opened her eyes but looked down at her hands, not meeting his gaze. "I don't know, but it's what I must do." She paused for a moment, then spoke again. "You are a good friend, Joseph. Thank you for being concerned. You don't know how much it means to me."

He waited for her to look up, but she didn't. He couldn't see her expression. Finally he said, "You're welcome. Thank you for understanding that I'm not here just because it's my job."

She nodded and finally looked up at him. Their eyes locked momentarily. He could see the hesitation and uncertainty in her expression. He didn't know what to do. Should he kiss her or leave her? Her expression was unreadable and gave him no hint as to how to proceed.

He decided that a retreat was in order, but did not surrender. He placed a chaste kiss to her hand, looked her in the eyes and whispered, "Good night, _Clarisse_."

Realizing he used her name instead of his customary use of her title, she was momentarily speechless, failing to also bid him farewell. As he closed the door to her suite, he could see her standing in the doorway, looking out over her balcony and the views of the darkened gardens beyond.

Clarisse stepped out onto the balcony. She knew what she needed to say. She needed to tell him how she felt. She needed to tell him that her first thought on waking each day was of him and how he dominated her dreams at night. He needed to know that he was the reason she kept going, kept it "together", so to speak, after the death of her son. If it weren't for him she would've long ago given in to the dark demons that played at the edges of her heart and mind.

She found herself in a familiar position. Life had dealt her another blow, trying once again to drive her to her knees. In the past she'd taken solace in the fact that she could cope with whatever life threw at her. Things were different now. The strength and determination were still there, but she felt more fragile than before. She wasn't going to be able to survive this on her own. She needed him to know that.

Outside her doorway, Joseph stood with his hand still on the knob. He ignored the questioning gaze of the footmen as he berated himself for leaving. She needed him. And he needed her. Needed her so badly that the ache of it was becoming unbearable. Before he even realized what he had done, he turned the knob and reentered the room, silently closing the door behind him.

She felt, rather than heard, his presence. When she turned around he was facing her silently, hands clasped in front of his body. His gaze was intense, boring into her very soul. She moved slowly away from the balcony, entering the room to stand before him. As she studied his face, she noted the dark circles under his eyes and the deepened lines around his mouth.

"You look tired, Joseph," she spoke softly, her voice husky.

He nodded his head briefly. "Lack of sleep," he admitted.

She stepped closer and reached up to adjust his tie, letting her hands rest on his chest when she finished. She needed to tell him.

"Take care of yourself, Joseph." She looked up into his eyes and whispered, "_My Joseph_. I need you too much to let anything happen to you."

Hearing the endearment she spoke, he smiled down at her and covered her hands with his own. "I know."

They stood like that for a long, intense moment. She couldn't breathe. His eyes on hers were so warm, so inviting. She could see her salvation in them. "I need you," she whispered to him once more.

He merely nodded as he leaned down to kiss her. He kept his kiss soft and sensual, leaving it to her to tell him what she wanted. She responded by encircling his neck with her arms. Her mouth pressed to his, her tongue flicked across his lips.

He replied by holding her tighter as her body pressed against him. The kiss deepened and became a messenger for his desires. She gasped for air as he moved his mouth down to her throat. He tasted her neck, driving bolts of desire through them both. She moaned his name softly.

Finally he lifted his head and pulled back enough to look down into her upturned face. "You frighten me," he told her seriously.

"Why?" she asked, her eyes widening in surprise.

"You take away my control. I'm helpless with you," he replied before capturing her lips again. When they broke apart a second time, he grinned at her. "You could tell me to jump off that balcony right now and I would do it. That's what scares me," he said.

She smiled back at him somewhat shyly. "I could also tell you to take me to bed right now, regardless of the consequences. And that scares me!"

"I hate consequences," he said with mock seriousness.

She put her head against his chest and laughed silently. "So do I, Joseph. So do I," she whispered, more to herself than to him.

He hugged her tightly again and rested his cheek on her hair. "I promised earlier that I would tuck you in. Perhaps that's not such a good idea, in light of those...consequences."

She looked up at him for a moment, before kissing him again; her lips burning against his. "It's not a good idea at all," she said.

He smiled knowingly, then released her from his grasp. Her body leaned slightly towards him, seeking to reestablish the contact. He took her hand and held it to his lips. Bowing low, he gently kissed her fingers.

"Good night, _my_ _Queen_," he said, before turning and leaving the room.


	5. Chapter 5

"Who is Fierre?" Joseph asked George Roque. The two men met for coffee at a small café on a secluded side street in Pyrus. It had been only a few days since Joseph asked him to investigate Baron Von Troken.

"I don't really know," Roque admitted. "He may be nothing more than a figurehead or he may be the person who is really behind this mess. All I know for certain is that his name crops up an awful lot in Von Troken's financial records. I think Von Troken is laundering money for him."

"You've run him through Interpol, I assume?" Joseph said.

"Yes, but nothing. That's why I really don't think he exists. There are no records anywhere on this guy," Roque said crossly. "It's still early, though. I've got men out shaking the trees. We'll see what they knock loose. I'm keeping all of this under my hat so far. Captain deWinter is pretty curious about anything going on between the palace and our office and I'd rather not have him poking into this business."

Joseph nodded. He trusted Roque enough to let him run the investigation without too much interference. For his part, George Roque knew that was more trust than Joe had in most people. Joe was a notorious perfectionist when it came to his job.

Roque also realized that this investigation was something more than just a job for Joe. It was personal. He'd known Joe for a long time and he suspected he knew the reason why Joe was so upset by the situation.

"How is Her Majesty taking all of this, Joe?" Roque asked.

"She is a very strong person, but these accusations have affected her," Joseph said quietly. Unconsciously, he was glad to have someone to talk to about Clarisse. "Her Majesty is managing to hold it together so far, but it is taking a toll on her. And now she's planning on going to the exhumation tomorrow. I don't agree with it, but she insists on being there."

"Any chance you can talk her out of it?"

"Not so far." Joseph grinned at him over the rim of the coffee cup. "She can be really stubborn sometimes."

George laughed. "It's a wonder the two of you haven't killed each other by now. If she's stubborn, then you are downright mule-headed."

Joseph gave him a ruefull smile. "I have to be, George. Sometimes it's the only way to get Her Majesty to listen to reason."

Roque shook his head. "And sometimes even that doesn't work, does it?"

"Yeah. This is one of those times, She's going to do what she thinks is right, even if it kills her," he sighed. "Keep working, George. I've got to know who is behind all of this."

George nodded and drained his cup before standing to leave. "We'll keep at it, Joe. Don't lose faith."

Joseph sat at the table for a long time after Roque left, swirling the dregs in the bottom of his cup and wracking his brain for ideas. Losing faith was one thing, losing the woman who held his heart was another.

oooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooo

The day was suitably grey. It wasn't really raining, but a soft mist hung in the air, making everything wet and slippery. _'If this were a movie, this is exactly the weather that a director would choose for this scene,'_ Clarisse thought. She could see the limo pull to a stop to wait for her as she gazed out the window. The flags hung limp and wet at the front of the vehicle.

"Your Majesty?"

She could hear the question in Joseph's voice as he said her name from the doorway. She tried to smile as she turned to face him, but for the first time in recent memory, her Queenly façade failed her. Her expression remained hollow and sad.

"You don't have to do this, you know," he said. "Let me do it for you. I can be your eyes and ears. You don't need to put yourself through this."

She looked down at the floor, at her hands clasped nervously in front of her. "They are digging my husband out of his grave. They are desecrating his body for the sake of an ugly rumor, Joseph. I cannot let that happen without bearing witness to it, without being there for him. It is my duty and mine alone. I _have_ to be there; I owe him that much." Her breath caught in her throat.

Joseph stepped closer, closing the office door behind him. He crossed the room to where she stood, but she had erected a barrier between them, one every bit as physical as if she'd built it from stone and mortar. It was a familiar wall, one she'd erected years ago; one that he thought had been decimated. Resentment flared momentarily as he faced this wall, but he realized she used it to protect her fragile emotions. Her heart had been broken too many times and this façade was now her defense. He stopped just out of arm's reach.

He could hear the intake of her breath as she squared her shoulders and tugged her jacket into place. She met his eyes, and the façade dropped into place over her features. "I'm ready."

He regarded her steadily for a moment. "No, you're not ready. You will never be ready. Not for this."

"Joseph, I –"

"Don't do this, Clarisse. Stop being so damn noble and take care of your self, for once!" He spoke more heatedly than he'd intended.

Anger sparked briefly in her eyes. When she spoke, her voice took on a decidedly icy tone. "Nobility is staying here and allowing them to desecrate my husband's remains. Loyalty is being there to witness his exhumation. I thought _you,_ of all people, would understand that." Before he could respond she pulled her shoulders straight, then brushed past him and out of the door. Joseph swore under his breath and willed himself to unclench his fists before he followed. He could see the cracks in her armor. She wasn't at all prepared for this, and he knew it. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do but watch.

The trip to the cemetery was every bit as bleak as she'd expected. She remained closed off from the outside world, only willing to watch it pass by the foggy car windows. The heater setting was as warm as it would go and still she felt a gnawing cold. As they neared the cemetery gates, her abdomen tensed at the sight of the satellite vans lining one side of the road. The press had been tipped off as to what was happening.

The long black car slid to a silent stop next to a concrete pathway leading down towards a Grecian style gazebo and a series of highly ornate mausoleums and monuments. The Renaldi family burial plots covered almost an acre in the midst of the large public cemetery.

As Joseph helped her from the car, a sleek black Mercedes pulled to a stop behind her limo. She breathed a sigh of relief to see that the occupant of the vehicle was her friend Michael Montague, Archbishop of Genovia. She paused momentarily to wait for him to exit his vehicle.

"Thank you for coming, Michael," she murmured when he was close enough to hear. "Your presence means a lot to me today."

Michael's eyes twinkled at her as he bent low over her outstretched hand. "I needed to be here, my dear. This whole situation is despicable. I can't believe Parliament agreed to this desecration."

"My enemies are evidently more determined that I gave them credit for," Clarisse replied darkly. "I still can't believe this is actually happening. They're my enemies, not Rupert's. They should let Genovia have the memory of a noble king, not all of this slander."

Michael took her arm and fell into step with her as they descended the pathway. He caught Joseph's eye over his shoulder. "Thank you for letting me know this was planned for today, Joseph."

Joseph nodded in acknowledgment. Michael winked at him, then spoke to Clarisse.

"Joseph takes very good care of you, Your Majesty."

Clarisse seemed slightly surprised by the comment. "Yes, he does. I would be lost without him." She managed a small smile in the direction of her bodyguard.

"Yes, I suspect you would," was Michael's rather enigmatic reply. As he spoke, they rounded a grove of trees and the large iron mass of a backhoe and crane came into view. At the sight of the machinery, Michael detected a hesitation in Clarisse's step. He glanced back at Joseph, concern written in his face. Reading the gaze, Joseph stepped up on Clarisse's left side; at the ready should he be needed. Clarisse did not notice the exchange between the two men.

The small band positioned themselves a few feet from the temporary construction fence that had been raised around the King's gravesite. The crane was parked on an empty bit of space that Clarisse knew was reserved for her mortal remains when the time came. She stood next to the less ostentatious stone that marked the grave of her son Phillipe. She let go of Michael's arm and knelt briefly in front of the stone. She reached out and traced the carved letters of his name. After a few moments of silence, she could hear approaching voices and rose to her feet. She again took the Archbishop's offered arm.

Joseph looked back down the path and could see the approaching officials from the police force, lead by Captain deWinter. They were followed by a small group of workmen who would evidently be doing the actual exhumation. He could see the press waiting at the gates, held back by his security team and a contingent of the local police. He knew they were easily visible to those with telephoto lenses, but they were at least safe from prying microphones. He took a step back as the officials neared, keeping in mind his position as an employee rather than a friend of the crown. He was deeply grateful for the Archbishop's presence. He knew Clarisse would need someone she could more openly lean on, literally and figuratively, today.

deWinter was scowling as he approached their group. He addressed the Queen. "I didn't realize you were planning to be here today, Your Majesty."

"I can't imagine why not, Captain. You know my objections to this atrocity. You can't imagine that I would stand idly by while you desecrate my husband's grave." Her voice was exceedingly cold, her gaze withering.

deWinter licked his lips before replying. "This could hardly be called desecration, ma'am. We are proceeding with all possible decorum. I, for one, am admittedly puzzled by your reaction. Normally, the family members of the deceased wish us to do everything possible to help with the apprehension of a killer."

"My husband was not murdered, Captain. The sooner you realize that and stop this madness, the sooner you can put a stop to the grief and pain you have caused the Crown and your country." Her voice was quiet and she no longer bothered to look at him, instead gazing out over the field of headstones.

deWinter appeared to be about to speak, but he was interrupted by Joseph clearing his throat purposefully as he stepped in front of Clarisse, coming between her and the police captain. "Her Majesty is here to observe and she wishes to ensure that your activities are completed with as much dignity as possible, under the circumstances. I would suggest that you get on with your work." His tone brooked no argument. deWinter turned on his heel and proceeded to the other side of the fence, where he started shouting orders to the workmen.

"Thank you, Joseph," Clarisse said quietly as Joseph moved back to his position behind her. He merely nodded and cast a sidelong glance at her. He could see her eyes were narrowed against the mist in the air. Her expression was stoic, except for the eyes. They betrayed her tension and pain.

Michael drew her closer, making sure she was shielded by his umbrella. The sound of the big machines roaring to life split the air, the harshness of the metallic grindings in their engines seemed horribly out of place in the otherwise quiet landscape.

The first shovel full of earth was ripped from King Rupert's grave. Out of the corner of his eye Joseph caught the flashes of the cameras capturing the image. Clarisse stood ramrod straight, her breath somewhat short. The ugly brown hole grew deeper and wider. She could almost feel each assault the bucket made on the damp earth as if it were digging into her own chest. When the machine clanged loudly against the metal vault underneath the soil, a wave of nausea rolled over her. Perhaps Joseph had been right – this wasn't such a good idea.

Michael seemed to sense she was faltering. He put his arm around her shoulders and held her tightly, willing her to be strong. She didn't see his worried glance over his shoulder at Joseph.

Before Joseph could react, there was a shout from the edge of the cemetery. All eyes, except those of Clarisse, turned to see an officer restraining an overly industrious reporter who had attempted to scale the fence.

The crane operator, who was in the midst of lifting the casket from the grave, diverted his gaze as well. He didn't notice that the smooth metal box, slickened by the mist and the damp, was coming free of the straps wrapped around it. A yell from the foreman reclaimed his attention, but it was too late.

As if in slow motion, the coffin slipped slowly from its moorings and crashed to the ground. Clarisse sucked in a breath, then mimicked the casket, slowly sliding towards the ground. Michael caught her in mid-faint, just as Joseph jumped forward to help.

"Dear God," Michael said fervently, then crossed himself as Joseph lifted Clarisse into his arms. "Let's get her out of here, Joseph."

Joseph looked back one last time, ascertaining that the casket appeared to be thankfully unharmed. The foreman was screaming at his men as they scrambled to lift the box into the waiting hearse for transport to the medical examiner's office.

"Stay between us and the cameras, as much as you can, Archbishop," Joseph instructed, turning his attention back to the inert form in his arms. "I'll carry her back to the car."

Michael nodded and they turned their back on the macabre scene, making their way back to the shelter of the limo. Joseph's face was dark with worry. Clarisse showed no sign of regaining consciousness. Her head lay limp against his shoulder and her arm swung senselessly at her side.

Just as they reached the car, she finally began to stir. The driver saw them coming and ran to open the door. Carefully, Joseph laid her down on the seat. He barked an order to the driver, who sprinted back to his seat and started the engine.

The Archbishop leaned in just long enough to squeeze Joseph's shoulder reassuringly, then stepped away and closed the door on them. The limo's engine purred into life and the car began to move.

Joseph took Clarisse in his arms and cradled her head and shoulders against his chest. She hadn't opened her eyes, but he knew she was awake. Neither spoke as he held her and they swayed gently along with the rocking of the car down the highway. She clutched at the fabric of his shirt. After a few minutes she began to sob softly against his chest. He remained silent and simply stroked her hair, letting her cry in peace.


	6. Chapter 6

The autopsy report was completed two days later. Joseph made sure a copy was delivered to the palace as soon as it was available. He scanned it quickly, searching the medical terminology for conclusions. He found what he was looking for.

The toxicology tests had been expedited and one of them was positive. Rupert Edward Renaldi had been poisoned.

Joseph cursed and threw the papers down on his desk. He leaned his forehead against his palm while drumming on the desk with the fingers of his other hand. There was no escaping this, she had to be told – and once again he had to be the bearer of bad news. He knew Clarisse well, better than just about anyone else, and he had no idea how she would react to this.

The sound of his footsteps seemed to pound out a funeral dirge as Joseph traversed the long hallway to Her Majesty's office. He could sense the question in Charlotte's gaze when he asked to see the Queen. Charlotte told him she had taken a break and was in her personal library.

He merely nodded and said he would see her there.

"Joe? Is something wrong?" Charlotte asked.

He stopped in the doorway. "She's going to need us, Charlotte. I'll tell you about it later."

Charlotte nodded and watched Joseph walk away, her grey eyes darkened with concern.

Joseph found Clarisse in the library. She was running a hand across the spines of the books, apparently not really looking at them.

"Your Majesty." He spoke quietly, yet still managed to startle her.

She recovered almost immediately and smiled warmly at him, but he could see the lines the tiredness accentuated around her eyes.

"I was just looking for something to read, taking a break. What can I do for you?" she asked.

Joseph crossed the room to the sofa and motioned for her to sit. She raised an eyebrow at him, but complied. He sat down beside her, taking one of her hands in his.

"Joseph? What is it?"

He looked into her eyes and suddenly she knew. She'd seen this look in his eyes before. She felt a strange sense of relief at the realization of how deeply he felt the pain she would face yet again. Whatever was wrong, she didn't have to face it alone.

In the brief moment when their gaze locked on one another, he wondered why. Why did he have to bring her such news? What else did fate have in store for her and why couldn't he protect her from these things? He worried that this was the final straw and that her fabled composure would finally fail her.

At last he spoke. "The test results from the autopsy have come back." He paused, searching for the right words, but there was no way to soften the blow. "It – It appears…" he took a deep breath. "The report came back with conclusive evidence. It appears that His Majesty was poisoned."

"Poisoned?" she repeated quietly.

"Yes. It was found in the stomach lining. He evidently ingested something by mouth, not long before his death." Joseph stroked her hand. Her skin had gone icy cold.

'_Poisoned," _she thought. _'Rupert was killed? Assassinated?'_ Her world seemed to close in on her and she could sense the dark demons coming to play with her emotions. She tried so hard to shut them out; to keep them at bay. Now she had to move, had to feel something. She stood up and walked across the room to stare out the long windows. Joseph didn't know whether or not to follow. She said nothing. Instead she remembered…

"_Dammit!"_

_Rupert chuckled at the sound of his normally unflappable wife's mild curse. He called to her from his chair by the fire. "What's wrong my dear?"_

"_Oh, it's this horrible dress." She swept into the room amid a mass of impressively embroidered skirting. "I shut the door on the hem of my dress. I hate this outfit. I hate to ride sidesaddle and I especially hate reviewing the guards."_

_Rupert chuckled again, before giving in to a hacking cough. He sat as close as he could to the fire, a lap robe wrapped snuggly around his legs. "What have you got against the guards?" he asked. _

"_Nothing personal. They just all look alike. If you've seen one, you've seen them all!" Her eyes twinkled at him, her good humor restored. She leaned over her husband, placing a hand to his forehead. "How are you feeling?"_

"_I've felt better," he admitted. "I'm sorry you got stuck with this job."_

"_I've had worse," she commented and grinned at him. "Are you sure you feel up to making a speech? I don't mind saying a few words, if you want me to. No one pays attention, anyway."_

"_If no one is paying attention when you speak, Clarisse, it is because they are absolutely bedazzled by your beauty," he said gallantly. She leaned in and kissed him lightly. His arms circled her shoulders and she yelped in surprise as he pulled her down into his lap and deepened the kiss. When he finally released her to pull away she glared at him mischievously. "You are going to mess up my outfit."_

"_You don't like it anyway," he replied, running his hands from her waist to her shoulders, causing her to shudder appreciatively. He pulled her to him for another kiss before releasing her. She kissed his nose affectionately and smoothed her dress as she stood._

"_Can you do me a favor, Clarisse?"_

"_Of course," she replied. She looked into the mirror and proceeded to fix her smeared lipstick. _

"_Look in the top drawer of my writing desk." He motioned to a desk in the corner of his sitting room. "There is a small envelope under the diary. It has a powder in it. Bring it here and mix it with a glass of water for me, will you?" he asked._

_She rummaged through the drawer and found the envelope. She regarded it skeptically. "What is this?"_

"_Just an herbal tonic. I take it ever so often when I need a bit of a pick me up." _

_She raised an eyebrow. "Did the doctor give you this?" She regarded her husband and noted that his face was slightly red and a faint sheen of perspiration was visible on his forehead._

"_No." He hesitated just long enough to make her suspicious. "I get it from a friend." He noted her stare and blotted his forehead with a handkerchief. _

"_Rupert! You can't take something the doctor doesn't know about. Don't you realize how dangerous that is?"_

"_It's not dangerous, Clarisse." He began to sound a bit perturbed by her reaction. "It just helps give me energy. Sometimes, like today, I need a little boost to get through the formalities. You know how it is…"_

_Clarisse was standing in front of him now, regarding the envelope in her hands. When she looked up at him he could see the concern in her expression. _

"_Clarisse! It's not a big deal. I've done this many times before. It's perfectly natural!"_

_She looked at him suspiciously but noted that his expression was set. He was going to be 'kingly' about this and she knew that meant her arguments were useless. _

_She acquiesced. "Alright, Rupert. But if you don't talk to your doctor about this, I will. Who gave it to you again?" She took the envelope over to the tea cart and mixed its contents into a glass of water. Rupert took the glass from her hand and downed it in a single long drink, winking at her as he did. _

"_Just an old friend, no need to cause a ruckus." He handed the glass back to her and she replaced it on the tray. _

_Rupert's assistant knocked on the door and stuck his head inside. "We'll be ready in about 15 minutes, Your Majesties."_

_Clarisse nodded and the man withdrew. When she turned back to Rupert he was standing and his face had regained some of its usual color. He crossed the room to where she stood and took her in his arms. _

"_See? I'm feeling better already. Almost good enough to ravish my wife." He bent his head to her neck. "It's been too long, Clarisse."_

"_Rupert!" she protested. "You know what the doctor said!"_

"_I don't care." He continued to nuzzle her neck, then pulled her body tightly to his. "Can you think of a better way to go?"_

"_I think it would be better for you not to go at all, my dear," she laughed, trying to break his embrace._

_He said something else, but his words were muffled against the skin of her neck. She felt herself melting into his arms. She closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of his attentions to her body. He nuzzled her ear, then began kissing her jaw. She moaned in satisfaction as his kisses began to burn hot against the skin of her lips. Just then the knock sounded at the door again, stifling their desires from rekindling._

"_Blast that man!" Rupert moaned. Clarisse smiled and kissed his cheek. "He may have just saved your life, darling!" Rupert threw back his head and laughed. _

_They followed the assistant out into the hallway where their bodyguards and the rest of the entourage awaited them. The group made their way down to the courtyard and gardens beyond. A dais had been set up across from temporary grandstands where the crowd was already gathered for the ceremony. _

_Rupert and Clarisse were to part ways at the palace steps. He leaned over and brushed his lips over the corner of her mouth and whispered in her ear, "Promise me we'll meet when this is over, darling. I've missed you."_

_She smiled up at him, squinting ever so slightly into the sun. "I don't think you're well enough for that kind of activity yet, dear. But perhaps later we'll see if you're up to the task." She grinned wickedly. He reached down and brought her hand to his lips, while watching her with twinkling eyes. He released her hand and turned to take his place on the stage while she and Joseph moved along the back of the crowd to where her horse was saddled and waiting. _

_She gathered the billowing material in her hands, then unceremoniously threw the skirts over her arm in a very unladylike fashion. She mounted the horse without help and caught Joseph's amused look as she fumbled and fussed with the skirts, placing them delicately around her. She noted Joseph's increasingly amused expression and smiled ruefully at him. "Have you ever tried to mount a horse while wearing enough material to clothe an army?"_

"_No ma'am," he answered. "I don't think I would look good in a skirt."_

_She laughed. "I don't know, Joseph. I think this skirt would look pretty good on you. It's long enough to hide your knobby knees."_

_He laughed too. "But I'm afraid it's not my color, Your Majesty."_

_She took the reins and adjusted her position one last time. "Alright. Let's get this over with." Joseph signaled someone with his lapel mike and the band began to play a spirited march. _

_Clarisse's horse was well trained and she herself was an expert rider. She took the horse through an intricate pattern of steps as she approached the troops. The horse seemed to be almost dancing to the beat of the march. _

_As the review of the guards came to a close, Clarisse brought her horse to the front of the dais where she nudged it in a graceful bow towards the King, to the sounds of riotous applause from the crowd. Rupert smiled and returned her greeting, but his gaze didn't quite meet hers. He seemed distracted._

_Clarisse turned her horse and rode away in the direction of the stables. She could see Joseph get into a golf cart driven by another security guard and they preceded her down the pathway. When she reached her destination, Joseph was holding the door open for her and her mount. _

"_Lovely as always, Your Majesty," he said._

"_Thank you Joseph. But the credit really belongs to the horse, not me."_

"_You both did outstanding." He smiled at her as she rode past him into the stable; then waited outside as she dismounted and left the horse in the care of the groom. _

_Clarisse patted her steed affectionately and gave him the carrot she'd hidden somewhere in the folds of her skirt, glancing out the window as she did. She could see the grandstands and the podium where Rupert was to speak. But he wasn't there. She craned her neck trying to see him, just as the sound of a collective gasp went up from the crowd. _

_Concerned, she ran to the window for a better view. Rupert appeared to have collapsed on stage. A small cry escaped her lips. She gathered up her skirt and ran out the door of the stable and straight into Joseph, knocking him to the ground._

"_Your Majesty! What's wrong?" he yelled after her retreating figure._

"_It's Rupert! Something's wrong!" she yelled back._

_He was already on his feet and running for the golf cart. "Climb in!" he said. She did and they headed for the grandstands. Clarisse jumped from the cart before it had completely stopped, almost tripping herself in the process. She could see the men crowded around her husband, who lay prostrate on the stage. The murmurs of the crowd buzzed in the air. _

"_Rupert!" she called, pushing her way through the assembled group. She dropped to her knees next to him. "What happened?"_

_His face was ashen and there was a decidedly blue tinge to his lips. He clutched at his chest. "Rupert?" she asked, her voice quivering._

_She could hear the faint sound of an ambulance siren in the distance. Rupert opened his eyes, saw her and groped for her hand. She slipped an arm around his neck and lifted his head to her lap. _

"_You did beautifully, Clarisse," he whispered. She smiled._

"_I think I may have to cancel our date for later," he tried to smile at her. "I really don't feel very well."_

"_The ambulance is on its way. Just hold on. We'll get you to the hospital and they'll take good care of you." She gripped his shoulder tightly._

_He nodded and closed his eyes for a moment before being seized by another spasm of pain. He cried out and squeezed Clarisse's hand painfully._

"_Oh, God!" She looked up at the people surrounding them. "Someone do something! Help him!"_

_Joseph pushed his way through the on-lookers and knelt at the King's side. He felt for a pulse. His eyes met Clarisse's and she could read the concern etched on his face. He spoke into his radio microphone. "Get that ambulance here, now!" He looked at Clarisse. "Can you help me loosen his clothing, Your Majesty? Let's get that tie off of him."_

_She nodded. Rupert opened his eyes as she pulled the tie free from his neck. He pulled Clarisse's hand to his lips. She gasped at the feel of his cold skin against her fingers. His voice was weak and she had to strain to hear him when he spoke. "I don't think this is going to end well, Clarisse. It's my heart…"_

"_Don't talk like that! Please…!"_

_He gasped and shook his head. "If something happens to me, you've got to carry on, darling. I know you are strong as steel under all those ridiculous skirts," he smiled a little. "You and Phillipe. Make me proud."_

"_If I promise not to complain about the outfits any more, will you promise not to leave me?" Tears ran unhindered down her face._

"_I would love nothing better than to make you that promise, but I fear I would break it. I've broken too many promises before, and I'm not going to do it again." He paused and seemed to be fighting for breath. "You are going to be just fine, Clarisse. You are everything a man could ask for in a woman, in a friend. You loved me when you didn't have to, and you accepted the challenge of being my Queen! Believe in yourself, believe in the duty you've chosen and you won't go wrong. You are my partner in every sense of the word, but I'm afraid that it's your turn to carry on without me."_

"_Rupert, please be quiet. You're tiring yourself and you need your strength…"_

"_No, it's too late, Clarisse. I need to say this." He again struggled to draw breath. The ambulance turned into the palace grounds and cut it's siren as it rushed in their direction. Joseph began to direct the security guards to hold back the crowds and clear a path for the paramedics. Rupert spoke again. "You are my best friend. Thank you for forgiving me when you didn't have to. Thank you for sharing your life with me…and our sons…" his voice faded. _

"_Rupert, please…" _

"_I love you, Clarisse…"he closed his eyes._

"…_don't leave me." She hugged him to her chest, burying her face in his hair. She began to sob uncontrollably._

_The paramedics set their gear and the gurney down next to the monarchs. Clarisse continued to cradle his head as the hand that had been holding hers fell limply to the ground._

_Joseph touched her shoulder, the heat from his hand jolted her body in sharp contrast to the coldness of her husband's skin… "Your Majesty…?"_

"Your Majesty…?" he asked; his hand on her shoulder.

When she turned to face him, the darkness he saw in her eyes almost caused him to step back from her. She seemed to read his thoughts and turned away again. But instead of pulling away he remained at her side, his hand softly caressing her shoulder.

Finally she spoke. "It was my fault. I killed him."

He tightened his grip and turned her to face him. She wouldn't meet his eyes. "Clarisse, you don't mean that," he said quietly. "What are you talking about?"

Her voice at times faltering, she told him about the events of that day and how she had given Rupert the 'medicine' he'd insisted on. Joseph stood at her side; his eyes warm with compassion, as she spoke.

"The timing is right, Joseph. Whatever it was that I gave him must be what killed him!" she cried at last.

Joseph nodded thoughtfully and they now stood shoulder to shoulder, staring out the long window into the palace grounds beyond. The late afternoon sun shone weakly through a layer of thin, high clouds. For some reason the tepid sunlight was depressing and more dreary than the rain that had fallen gently over the countryside for the last few days.

As much as he would like to believe otherwise, he knew Clarisse was probably right. The poison had likely been administered exactly as she assumed. Someone out there knew about the King's secret and had used it to kill him. What was the powder King Rupert took and where did he get it? Was the person who gave him the substance the same person who killed him? Joseph knew he would have to find the answers and he knew it wouldn't be easy.

He tried to think of something to say. Everything he thought of sounded trite and forced to his own ears. When he looked over at her, he could see that she was fighting tears. She wrapped her arms around herself and her eyes held a look of desperation.

"Oh, Clarisse," he murmured softly and stepped closer, reaching out towards her.

She stepped away, shaking her head. "Don't, Joseph. I - I have to keep it together."

"Why?" he asked soberly, not moving away from her.

"Why? Because I thought I had shed all my tears for him. Because I'm tired of all of this," she answered. She pressed her hands to her eyes. "Because I should be stronger than this."

Before he could answer, she managed to smile a bit and said, "Besides, don't you get tired of me crying on your shoulder? It must make a mess of your shirts."

He grinned in return, "That's why I always wear black. The makeup smudges don't show as badly." He brushed imaginary stains off of his chest.

He was rewarded by her somewhat shaky laughter. She reached out to him at last, allowing him to wrap her in his arms. She seemed to relax against him.

"I wish I could make this all go away," he murmured, lips brushing her hair.

"So do I," she said, burrowing closer to him. After a few moments she spoke again, her voice sounding stronger. "Some bodyguard you are! Why aren't you out there shooting someone for me? It might make me feel better! Are you out of bullets?"

His surprised laughter was choked off when she threw her arms around his chest and squeezed. Hard. He looked down to see her smiling up at him, her eyes still moist.

"Thank you for being here," she said simply.

He nodded in reply, running a finger down her cheek. Then, remembering the ever-present security cameras, he released her and they stepped away from each other. Their eyes met and he smiled ruefully at her. She understood. Together they left the library and parted in the hallway, headed back to their separate duties.

As she walked back towards her office, Clarisse listened the distinctive clip of Joseph's boot heels on the marble floor. Even as the sound receded, she could hear the purpose and determination in his step. He wouldn't rest until he got the answers she needed. She had nothing to fear. She knew Joseph would save her.

In fact, he already had.


	7. Chapter 7

The rest of the week passed in a blur. Joseph was busy with his regular duties, but the business of King Rupert's death was never far from the front of his mind. He kept as many men as possible out in the field looking for answers, but so far there was nothing of significance to report.

He checked in with Roque as often as was prudent. Roque was investigating the situation at Joseph's request and was operating outside his jurisdiction, as the official investigation into the King's death had been turned over to a task force established by Parliament immediately following the release of the autopsy report.

Captain Albert deWinter was placed in charge of the task force and seemed to relish his new power. There had been several demands for information submitted to the palace. Joseph was in charge of handing over whatever information was required. deWinter seemed to take a perverse pleasure in being as bothersome as possible. His demands were designed to bolster his firm belief in the Queen's guilt and he was doing whatever possible to make her look bad in the eyes of parliament and the media.

For her part, Queen Clarisse tired to keep the situation as normal and low key as possible. She debated the wisdom of issuing a statement to the media denouncing the rumors of her complicity in her husband's death. In the end, she chose not to acknowledge the gossip for fear of giving it greater credence in the press.

Charlotte was busier than ever with calls from reporters and inquiries from various government officials regarding the status of the investigation. As efficient as ever, she managed to remind Clarisse to contact her granddaughter Amelia and explain what was happening before the media pounced on her.

When Clarisse made the initial call, she neglected to close the door to her private office, and Charlotte couldn't help but overhear the Queen's side of the conversation.

"Hello? Amelia?

"Yes, dear, I'm fine. How are your classes?

"That's very interesting, but what about your classes? Are they going well?

Clarisse laughed briefly. "It sounds wonderful. I'm glad you're making such progress. My dear, I had a specific reason for calling you today. There is something going on here that you need to know about—.

"Oh, no, I'm fine…yes, yes; Joseph and Charlotte are just fine, too. No, darling, I needed to warn you before you are approached by the media…

"Amelia, please! There is nothing wrong with me! There has just been a… a situation that has arisen, that you need to know about."

Clarisse briefly outlined what was going on for her granddaughter. Charlotte could tell from the tone of the conversation that the Queen was unsure of how to approach the story and of her granddaughter's reaction to it. Evidently it struck a nerve with the Princess as well, because the interruptions stopped and Clarisse was able to give Mia the information all at once.

She paused for a long while at the end of her story. Then Charlotte heard her speak again, in a quieter voice.

"Oh, Mia, darling. Thank you. You don't know what that means to me.

"Yes, I promise. In fact, I'm going to eat as soon as I finish talking to you."

Charlotte smiled. Mia knew her grandmother well. Clarisse never ate like she should when she was under stress.

"Yes, she's been a lifesaver. She battles the press on the phones and keeps them from bothering me. I couldn't function without her."

Charlotte blushed.

"Of course, Mia. Joseph always takes good care of me.

"Amelia!"

Charlotte stifled a giggle. The Princess was not one to hide her thoughts. There was no telling what she was saying to her grandmother about Joseph.

"Joseph is very good at his job, my dear. He takes it very seriously and…

"What do you mean 'throw him a bone'? He's a man, not a dog!

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean! It is his job to look after me and to keep me safe. Just like Malcolm and Katherine look after you while you are away at university!

"How is it different, pray tell?

"K-kissed?! Amelia! Where do you get these ideas?

Charlotte covered her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. She could only imagine the look that must be on the Queen's face. Clarisse finally ended the call. She walked over to the door way and spoke to Charlotte.

"Did you hear that Charlotte?" she asked.

"Not if you didn't want me too, Your Majesty," Charlotte answered in all seriousness.

Clarisse smiled slightly and shook her head. "I guess I'm going down to dinner. I'll see you in the morning."

Charlotte was hard pressed to not listen to the customary recording of all of the Queen's phone calls. She looked down at her phone, and although her finger hovered over the _play_ button, her good sense and loyalty to the Queen had her finger move slightly to the left and press _erase_. The princess joking about Joseph to the Queen in private was one thing, but having it as a matter of record was another.

oooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooooo

When she left the dining room following dinner, Clarisse didn't feel like retiring to her suite. She had some phone calls to make, so she decided to go back to her office for an hour or so. It would give her a jump on the next day's work. And perhaps the quiet evening atmosphere would help her concentrate.

Clarisse sat quietly in the soft leather chair at her desk, finger tracing the small, constricted doodles she'd made on the desk calendar earlier that day. The room was silent and the only illumination came from the lamp on the corner of the desk.

She'd had trouble concentrating lately. The knowledge that Rupert had been killed hit her harder than she at first realized. He was no more dead than he'd been a month ago, and she was no more alone. But the knowledge that someone had assassinated – murdered – him ripped open the old grief. It was like losing him all over again.

After three failed attempts to return phone calls – she was evidently the only Head of State working late this evening – she gave up. She turned off the desk lamp and left the office. However, instead of walking towards the stairs leading to her suite, she turned the opposite direction. Not really sure where she was headed or what she intended, she soon found herself standing in the darkened hallway outside the King's office door. She put a hand on the knob and turned.

It was locked.

And of course she didn't have the key. Queens don't carry keys. She didn't even know where to find a key.

'_Locked. How apropos,'_ she thought. She drew in a ragged breath and turned around, leaning back against the locked doors. She stood like that for several minutes; eyes closed, occasionally pounding the door with her open palm. There were far too many locked doors in her life, she mused.

"Are you alright?" The soft voice floated towards her from somewhere down the hallway.

"No, not really," she whispered in reply.

"I have a key." The voice was closer now. She still didn't open her eyes.

"It doesn't really matter. There is nothing in there that would help me. It's just a cold, empty room." She hit the door again. "Cold and empty."

"So why stay here?" Now the voice was just in front of her. She finally opened her eyes.

"Because I don't know what else to do, Joseph."

He nodded and took her face in his warm hands. He studied her eyes intently, thumbs brushing against her lower lashes, wiping away the teardrops before they fell. "You are not alone, Clarisse," he whispered, his face inches from hers.

She met his steady gaze, her palms pressed flat on the door behind her. "It feels like I'm alone."

"You're _not_ alone," he repeated. As he spoke, he mentally prayed that the security room was still as empty as he'd left it. Then he leaned in closer and placed a soft kiss on her lips.

She almost pulled back in surprise. Almost. Instead she allowed the kiss, even returned it. But as she finally reached up, removing her hands from the cold wooden door and grasping for his firm, warm flesh, he was already pulling away.

He smiled softly at her, then motioned towards the video camera mounted at the ceiling a few feet away. "Never alone," he said. He grasped her hand, kissed it and walked away, as silently as he'd come.


	8. Chapter 8

Joseph threw open the door to Clarisse's office and stormed inside, Charlotte hot on his heels. Clarisse jumped at the sudden interruption. She stared, slightly open-mouthed at his frantic expression.

"We have to leave, Your Majesty! Now! They're on their way!"

"Joseph! What are you talking about? Please calm down," she rounded the end of her desk to meet him. "What is going on?"

"Captain deWinter is on his way here right now, with the Prime Minister and the police. Sebastian just managed to get word to me before they left. deWinter is going to arrest you for murder, Clarisse!" Joseph grabbed her by the elbow, pulling her towards the door. "Let's go! We don't have much time!"

She balked and looked to Charlotte, reading confirmation of what Joseph said in her assistant's bleak expression. Joseph grabbed her by the arms. "We can't waste time. We only have a few minutes before they arrive. You don't have time to pack, but we can buy anything you need once we put some miles between us and the palace."

"I can't Joseph…"

"Don't argue with me, Clarisse! Please!" He took a breath. "I don't want to, but I will drag you out of here kicking and screaming, if I have to!"

His tirade had given her time to collect her thoughts. She gripped his arms. "Joseph," she whispered. "I can't run away—"

"Clarisse! You don't understand—"

"I understand perfectly, Joseph. But I cannot and will not do this. As tempting as that idea is, I have to face what comes. I'm not guilty and I will not run."

Joseph searched her eyes, seeing only her determination. He turned to Charlotte. "Tell her, Charlotte – make her understand." His voice was on the verge of breaking.

Charlotte opened her mouth to speak, but Clarisse shook her head and sighed. "I understand all of this Joseph. But I won't let this break me. I won't let them force me to give in and flee like some common criminal."

Joseph took a deep breath, fighting to keep his emotions under control. He reached up and took her face in his hands. "They want to imprison you. Do you understand, Clarisse? _Just_ like a common criminal."

She placed her cool hands on his wrists, feeling the heat in his skin and the slight tremor of his hands. "Then I have to trust you to discover the truth, Joseph. Failing that, perhaps you can storm the tower and break me out." She smiled rather weakly at him.

Before he could answer, there was a loud knock at the outer door. Clarisse sighed and motioned for Charlotte to open the door.

Captain deWinter strode purposefully into the room and announced in a loud voice "Clarisse Renaldi, I am here to arrest you for the murder of His Royal Majesty, King Rupert Renaldi."

Sebastian Motaz and several members of Parliament entered the room just behind the Captain. Clarisse ignored the Captain and stepped around Joseph, who had positioned himself between her and the intruders. She clasped her hands in front of her waist and addressed herself calmly to the parliament members. "None of you can possibly believe this charge is justified. Why are you allowing this?"

Sebastian stepped to her side as she glared at the small group of old men. Finally, Lord Fricker spoke. "It's an unpleasant business, Your Majesty. Of course we don't believe you are guilty, but we cannot allow the rule of law to be subverted by our personal beliefs."

Joseph snorted derisively at this answer. Clarisse reached out, not breaking her gaze with the Parliamentarians, and put her hand on her bodyguard's forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I understand, Lord Fricker," she said quietly. "And the rest of you? Do you believe this idiocy?"

There was some grumbling and mumbling but no one would answer her question and most wouldn't look her in the eye. "Very well." She took a deep breath, pulled her shoulders ramrod straight, and addressed the Captain. "Shall we go, Captain deWinter?"

deWinter nodded brusquely and pulled a pair of handcuffs out of his jacket pocket. Clarisse's eyes flashed fear for the first time and her grip tightened reflexively on Joseph's arm. Joseph instinctively moved to place himself between the Queen and the Captain, shielding her from the man's untrusting gaze.

"That is uncalled for, deWinter!" he said savagely.

"I'll be the judge of that," the man replied with equal harshness. He reached for Clarisse's wrist. Joseph grabbed the man's arm in a painful, viselike grip, and pushed him away from the Queen.

The Prime Minister appeared as startled as Clarisse at the sight of the handcuffs. "Really, deWinter! You will not shackle Her Majesty like this. She is still the Queen!" He had moved next to Joe, positioning his considerable bulk between the swarthy Captain and the Queen.

There was a long moment of heavy silence as deWinter weighed the wisdom of insisting on the shackles. Clarisse finally spoke. "Thank you, gentlemen, but this is getting us no where. I will submit to accompanying Captain deWinter." deWinter smiled triumphantly at the two men. "However, I will not submit to the handcuffs, understood?" She fixed deWinter with a piercing glare. "If you press the issue, I will have my security team forcibly remove you from the palace."

deWinter meet her gaze with a simpering smile. "Certainly Your Majesty. I apologize for the misunderstanding. It is standard procedure to restrain a prisoner accused of such a serious crime. Perhaps I forgot myself."

"Perhaps you did." She kept her voice cool and aloof.

"Where are you taking her?" Joseph asked gruffly.

"The charge is being arraigned before a magistrate," Sebastian explained. "The magistrate is waiting on us and will assess bail."

Joseph nodded curtly and spoke to Clarisse. "I will, of course, accompany you, Your Majesty."

"Of course," she agreed, her tone almost daring deWinter to disagree. He did not. In fact he seemed rather unconcernedly smug.

It was raining again. The only sound in the car was the swishing of the tires on the pavement as the limousine wound its way toward the town. Joseph felt rather ill. Decidedly ill, in fact. He wanted desperately to speak to Clarisse during the seemingly endless ride to the Magistrate's Court in Pyrus. But the presence of Captain deWinter and another police officer on the seat across from them made conversation all but impossible. He also knew that if he spoke, his voice would likely betray the emotions boiling inside of him at this point.

Clarisse, for her part, still looked every bit the monarch that she was. She sat straight in the seat, not a hair out of place, no trace of nervousness in her hands. Somehow, she managed to convey an appearance of relaxed confidence. She kept her face averted from Joseph, and stared out the window. It was as if she understood that if their eyes were to meet, the fear that she was fighting would break through to the surface. Her heart longed for Joseph and it was all her mind could do to stop herself from falling into his arms, desperate for the comfort he could provide, however temporary it would be.

Finally, they reached their destination. Joseph helped Clarisse from the car and squeezed her hand encouragingly. Still she didn't meet his gaze, but rather replied by squeezing his hand in return. She walked quickly through the entrance, head held high, Joseph's hand a constant presence at the small of her back. They made their way from the parking garage to the second floor courtroom via a rear staircase, thankfully shielded from prying eyes.

The quietness of the back hallway gave way to the buzzing conversation of a large crowd. The courtroom was packed. Evidently all of Genovia's media outlets and the majority of the nobility had been notified of the hearing. There were no empty seats and the aisles were lined with people. Joseph detected the sharp intake of breath that marked the Queen's surprise as she entered the room. She hadn't expected the hearing to be so obviously public. Her countenance hardened even more, her eyes blazed with anger and determination.

Sebastian Motaz, who'd started his career as an attorney before he entered politics, was waiting for them at the defendant's table. He had agreed to act as the Queen's Counsel. As Clarisse seated herself next to Motaz, Joseph leaned in close to his ear.

"What the hell is going on, Motaz? Why are all these people here?" he growled menacingly.

"I don't know, Joe," Sebastian replied quietly. "I suspect deWinter and his cronies are planning to make this as big a spectacle as possible, so as to cover for their lack of any real evidence. Don't worry, there should be no problem with bond and we'll be out of here within 10 minutes."

Motaz then addressed Clarisse. "Do you wish to make a statement to the press following the hearing, Your Majesty?" She shook her head. "It might be advisable," he continued. "The other side has been having a field day at your expense. Now would be a good time to fight back."

"That sounds like good advice, Your Majesty," a voice said from behind them. Joseph looked over his shoulder to see the friendly face of Lord Andre Sadique. Sadique spoke again, as he reached across the bar to shake Joseph's hand. "Perhaps you've been silent on this matter for too long?"

"I'll take that into consideration," she said quietly.

Sadique smiled encouraginly at her before turning away in search of a seat. Just then the door behind the Judge's bench opened and a bailiff announced the magistrate. The Judge came in and bowed to the Queen before being seated. He motioned for the others to sit as well. The bailiff called the case.

Sir Roderick Dumont, the prosecutor, stood to offer the Crown's case.

"This is a singularly unusual situation, sir. Even down to the terminology. I represent the Crown in this court of law and at the same time, I find it my duty to prosecute the same said Crown for a heinous crime. We have presented the Court with briefs outlining the trail of evidence that has led to this charge. The Crown requests that this Court now formerly charge Clarisse Renaldi with the murder of His Royal Majesty, King Rupert Edward Renaldi."

The prosecutor bowed to the Judge, then turned to acknowledge the crowd behind him before sitting down.

Sebastian Motaz rose from his seat and ponderously addressed the Court. "Your Honor, we have read the briefs submitted by the prosecution. You of course realize that this charge is utterly spurious and will be absolutely refuted in trial before a court of law. What the prosecutor calls evidence is merely conjecture and unproven rumor.

Her Majesty is absolutely devoted to the laws of this country. Were that not the case, she would have refused, as was her right as sovereign, to be bound by the warrant of this Court. However, she wishes to have her innocence proved and has agreed to submit to the same procedure as would befall any other citizen of Genovia.

Therefore Her Royal Majesty, Queen Clarisse Gerard Renaldi, hereby pleads not guilty and requests to be released on bail, pending a trial which will clear her name of all charges."

The Judge nodded in response. "The charge and plea of the defendant are duly noted. I will hear evidence regarding bail."

Sir Dumont fairly leapt to his feet. "This is of course an extraordinary case, Your Honor. The defendant is no stranger to any of us and has, of course, no history of criminal activity." He directed a simpering smile at the defense table. "However, she is a person of enormous individual and political power and wealth. If the defendant chose to leave the country, none of us would be able to stop her, Your Honor. In fact, she is the only citizen of Genovia with an entire army at her disposal, duty-bound to carry out her every order. While we appreciate the gesture the Queen has made by submitting to the criminal laws of our great nation," at this point he bowed slightly in the Queen's direction, "we feel that the risk of flight is far too great to warrant her release from custody."

Motaz jumped to his feet before the Judge could speak. "That is an egregious argument, Your Honor. It assumes the guilt of Her Majesty, prior to any opportunity she's had to tell her story. Her Majesty has no reason to flee prosecution and doing so would be considered evidence of guilt. The prosecutor is forgetting himself and treating his Queen as if she were already convicted. We all know that is not the case. Bail must be granted. Anything less would be a grievous injustice. And what does the esteemed prosecutor suggest? That we lock up our Queen with ordinary criminals in a jail cell somewhere? How barbaric are you prepared to be? Does Sir Dumont intend on making this Court a laughing stock?"

The Judge turned his attention back to the prosecutor. "Mr. Motaz makes an excellent point, sir. What are you proposing? I cannot remand Her Majesty to jail."

Dumont cleared his throat and glanced behind him, before turning his attention back to the Court. "The Crown has anticipated this situation Your Honor. I would never dream of asking that Her Majesty be confined in a jail cell. However, with the help of some of our more dedicated citizens, I have a solution."

Motaz, glowering from his seat at the defense table, interjected. "There is no need for a 'solution' Your Honor. Simply set bail and Her Majesty will agree to appear as directed."

Seated just behind and to the left of Clarisse, Joseph watched her profile intently. She sat as straight and coolly elegant as before, but her eyes had widened as the discussion centered not on how much her bail would be, but rather whether it would be granted at all. Her hands were knotted tightly in her lap.

"If I may continue?" Dumont glared at Motaz for his interruptions, then returned a neutral gaze to the Judge. "Baron Adolphus Von Troken has graciously agreed to house Her Majesty on his estate as a means of compromise. With permission of the Court, she would be confined to a perfectly adequate guesthouse on his estate. Her every need would be provided for, but she would be guarded by members of the police force, rather than her own security forces. It is the best, most fair solution, for all concerned."

"Absolutely NOT!" Joseph jumped from his seat in an uncharacteristic outburst. "Her Majesty will NOT be without her personal security. It's preposterous enough that you're attempting to charge her with murder, much less imprison her, but to leave her unprotected! You've given any madman a roadmap to the Queen's assassination."

Dumont quickly fired back, "she would be under the protection of the police! Police who are loyal to their country and to their crown." Dumont looked to the judge, "to allow her majesty access to her security team allows her an access to escape your honor. As Mr. Romero has clearly pointed out, his loyalties are to the crown, not to Genovia."

"My loyalty to the crown _is_ my loyalty to Genovia. You should…"

"Mr. Romero, SIT DOWN." The judge fiercely interrupted the argument between the two men. "If you do not refrain from speaking, I will hold you in contempt of court.

"But your honor…" Joseph was looking for compassion from the judge, instead he was greeted with a cold stare.

"I said SIT, sir."

Joseph begrudgingly took his seat.

Had the whole world gone insane? How could they even consider toying with her safety like that? Joseph could feel his breath coming in hot, angry gasps. He shook his head – he couldn't afford to lose it again. He would be of no use to Clarisse if he ended up behind bars himself.

Joseph forced air back into his lungs and focused his attention on the judge. Motaz made his argument for the Queen, apparently to no avail. As Motaz finished, Joseph worried that his outburst had done more harm than good. He noted the judge's gaze as it traveled out towards the spectator's gallery. His eyes seemed to be searching for something – a face, a signal. Then, just as quickly, the Judge's gaze was riveted back on the Prime Minister. He rapped his gavel once for attention.

"The Court finds with the Crown. Bail is denied. The defendant is remanded into custody. Court is adjourned."

Before anyone could react, the Judge scurried back out the door and into his chambers beyond. Reporters shouted. Cameras flashed. Clarisse didn't move.

Joseph motioned to two of his men who had accompanied them. The three of them took positions around the Queen, shielding her from the cameras. Sebastian knelt at her side. Clarisse looked at him questioningly.

"Your Majesty, I don't know what to say!" Motaz took her hand. "This shouldn't be happening. I will appeal it immediately, of course."

"What happens in the meantime, Sebastian?" she asked him quietly, her voice level and controlled.

He dropped his eyes. "You will have to accompany them, Your Majesty." He looked up again, this time his gaze unconsciously traveling over her head to meet Joseph's eyes. "I'm so sorry."

"She doesn't have to do it, Motaz," Joseph kept his voice to a quiet growl. "She is the Queen. Her Majesty cannot be moved to an unsecured location, just on the word of that shyster prosecutor. This is crazy! She's not going."

Clarisse stared down at her hands, clasped so firmly in her lap.

"I understand how you feel, Joseph. We all feel the same way. But Her Majesty has submitted herself to the rule of the Court. To pull out from that now will look like an admission of guilt," Sebastian said.

"This is insanity, Sebastian! You can't just sit back and let it happen!" The protesting voice of Lord Sadique cut through the bedlam of the croweded courtroom. Pushing his way through the crowd, Sadique stood just outside the small group shielded by the security detail, on the spectator's side of the bar. Sadique spoke again. "Clarisse! Don't let them do this - you don't have to!"

Joseph nodded his agreement and looked to Sebastian, hoping for confirmation. The Prime Minister studied the Queen closely, waiting for her decision.

Abruptly, Clarisse stood and turned to face her protectors, both legal and personal. "Thank you, gentlemen," she said formally. "Sebastian is right. I can't do this halfway." Then she spoke to Joseph, still not quite looking him in the eye. "Please tell them I'm ready."

deWinter appeared at that moment. "Shall we go, madam?"

She met his eye with a steely gaze. "I'm ready. Joseph, my coat please."

Joseph placed the coat around her shoulders, letting his touch linger momentarily. She seemed suddenly smaller to him, more fragile. She still steadfastly avoided his eyes, but he understood. He understood all too well how fragile the mask of control was. His own mask was on the verge of collapse.

Pulling her coat up closer to her throat, she stepped past him and followed deWinter from the courtroom. Joseph had never felt despair such as he felt when the door closed behind her and she was cut off from his view.


	9. Chapter 9

It was after 7:00 that evening before Sebastian worked out arrangements for visitation with the Queen. He, his assistant Marie, Charlotte and Joseph had been approved to meet with her. It had been a Herculean effort to get approval for Joseph, especially after his outburst in the courtroom, but the judge had finally relented. Sebastian won the argument for Joseph by simply stating that if visitation wasn't granted, he couldn't guarantee that Joseph wouldn't use his diplomatic immunity to his advantage.

Charlotte and Joseph carried the bags that the ladies maids had packed for the Queen and Charlotte carried an attaché case of work that could be completed by Clarisse away from her office. Joseph carried a bag of his own, stuffed with Clarisse's favorite books from the palace library, a journal, stationary, and the neglected needlework he found languishing in a corner of Clarisse's sitting room. He had felt odd rifling through her belongings and suite, especially without her there. Yet somehow, he couldn't bear to leave her room; it was his closest link to her. Ever since the door to the courtroom had separated them earlier that day, he had felt completely useless and listless.

Charlotte rode in Joseph's car, followed by the Prime Minister's limousine. The drive was a silent one. The days were getting shorter and it was already almost dark by the time they left. There was no rain now, but a cold, steady wind rattled the leaves that were left on the trees.

The Von Troken estate bordered the palace grounds and the Renaldi woods to the west. The guard on duty at the gate directed them to a small house at the back of the grounds, almost two miles off of the main road.

Charlotte sighed audibly as they approached the small house. "I can't stand this, Joseph."

He nodded grimly.

"She's so strong, but…" Charlotte's voice trailed off.

Joseph was saved from making a reply by turning the car into the gravel driveway in front of the cottage. It was surrounded on three sides by dense woods – a secluded security nightmare. A police car was parked on the side of the house and two officers guarded the front door. Joseph could see a light in the window, but it appeared to be coming from a room in the back. The front of the house was dark and uninviting.

Sebastian and his secretary joined Joe and Charlotte. The little group stepped forward to identify themselves to the guard. Joseph knocked on the door. After a few moments, Clarisse herself opened the door.

She smiled at the assembled group, then motioned them inside. As she moved into the small foyer, Charlotte searched Clarisse's face with her concerned eyes and quietly whispered, "are you OK, Your Majesty?"

"Yes, my dear." Clarisse smiled warmly at the other woman and patted her cheek. "I am all right. I'm not happy about this, but I've been left alone. I may get used to the peace and quiet."

She greeted the Prime Minister and his assistant warmly as well. Joseph brought up the rear. He took her hand and kissed it tenderly. "Well, at least you don't have to wear the stripped convict jumpsuit," he grinned at her. She laughed at his feeble joke, relief evident in her voice. He winked at her. She tore her gaze from his and turned to close the door, hoping to hide the hand she brushed across her eyes.

The small council of war spread out their paperwork on the dining room table. Sebastian went over his defense strategy with Clarisse. The consensus was the evidence was flimsy and could be easily beaten in a fair fight.

"There is something else we are going to have to fight, however," Sebastian said. "What happened today was highly unusual, Your Majesty. I think that whoever is behind this whole plot has the judge and maybe the prosecutor on their payroll."

"Or their blackmail list," Joseph added.

"Yes," the Prime Minister agreed. "So what we need to do is find out who is behind this."

Clarisse leaned forward in her chair, resting her elbows on the table. "It just doesn't make any sense." Her uncharacteristic posture betrayed her frustration. "I know I've made enemies in my lifetime. I understand there are many in Parliament and the rest of the nobility that are not happy with some of my reforms. But none of it warrants something like this. Who hates me this much? I just can't fathom it."

There was silence for a few moments. Finally Sebastian spoke. "Maybe it's not personal, Your Majesty. Maybe this is just a means to an end."

"Not personal?" Clarisse's expression betrayed her surprise. "I'm under arrest for murdering my husband! I can't think of anything more personal. And Rupert..." Her voice trailed off at the thought of her husband lying in the morgue, again.

Sebastian quickly spoke, "Your Majesty, I'm so sorry." It did nothing to cover the hurt in Clarisse's eyes. Her husband was no longer "laid to rest". Rupert didn't have peace. Instead, he had been murdered. Someone who needed him out of the way had ended his reign – ended his life. Presumably the same person who now wanted the Queen out of the way. Someone who didn't care about the lives of others or the welfare of Genovia. Someone capable of great evil.

An eerie silence fell over the room. Clarisse seemed lost in thought, and none of the others knew what to say. The king was dead – murdered – and it was up to them to figure out who had done it and why. This wasn't a childish game of "who-done-it" -- this was real life – and the life of their Queen and friend depended on their ability to figure out the puzzle.

Joseph looked up from his notepad. He'd been doodling thoughtfully for the last few moments, trying to gather his thoughts. Finally he broke the silence. "I think Sebastian is right."

"You do?" Clarisse asked finally looking into the eyes of her friend. The attention of the assembled group was now fixated on Joseph.

"Yes. I think someone is trying to get you out of the way, Your Majesty. And so far, they are achieving their goal." He stood up and began to pace, while continuing to talk. He seemed to be thinking aloud. "You are a not as easily accessible as King Rupert was. You're under heavier surveillance than he ever was. Getting close enough to you to…" he paused and looked at her. He took a calming breath and continued, "to kill you isn't easy. It's my job to make sure of that. And if, God forbid, I were to fail you and someone did assassinate you, the Queen is so well loved by the people that whatever work you were doing would be championed by the masses. Your campaigns would continue, which would not solve the problem. So, what is left? You must be discredited, disgraced and removed from power."

"But why?" Clarisse asked him. She had turned sideways in the chair, so she could watch him pace back and forth behind her. "Why now? And who is behind it?"

He paced silently a few minutes longer. "It has to be something that has been going on for quite some time, in order to allow for this level of planning. Look at everything that has happened to bring you to this place." He gestured distastefully at the table and detritus of their defense planning. Clarisse's eyes were warm as she watched him pace and think out loud. He continued. "It also has to be something big. No small offense would result in this sort of operation. Someone is spending big money on this, which means they are in danger of losing big money because of whatever it is you're doing, Your Majesty." He stopped for a moment, at the large window overlooking the back of the grounds, seemingly aware of his listeners for the first time. "Does any of this make sense?"

"Yes!" they answered.

"So, what have you accomplished or worked on in the last year or two that would cost someone a tremendous amount of money or power if you were to succeed at it?" Charlotte asked Clarisse.

She thought for a few moments, but finally shook her head. "I don't really know – I can't think of anything…" The others were silent as well. Joseph continued to look out the window. A faint solitary light in the distance caught his attention. He continued to look at it as the conversation continued behind him. Something kept drawing him to that faint light –as if it were a beacon in the night. The light continued to come closer to shore, accompanied by the roar of a boat. The light extinguished but Joseph continued to hear the motor of the boat. Suddenly, realizing the answer to their question, he whirled around and addressed the group.

"The coast guard program," he said in a deathly clam voice. "It's been going on for nearly two years and it must be costing more than one person a lot of illicit income!"

Charlotte exclaimed. "That could certainly be it!"

"There would have to be a criminal mastermind behind a plot like this. Who could it be?" Sebastian asked. "Do you have any theories?"

Joseph's face fell. "I'm afraid not. Roque has been working a very successful interdiction effort, and he knows code names of some of the higher ups in the organization are, but we don't know who the leader of this particular group is…" his voice trailed off and he looked somewhat stricken.

Clarisse jumped to her feet, coming to lay a hand on his arm. "Joseph, what's wrong?"

"I'm fine," he said shortly and brushed past her to grab his notebook from the table. He took his pen and scrawled 'bugs' across the paper in huge letters. He held it up for the others to see and then gestured expansively around the room. Everyone nodded in understanding.

"Well," Sebastian said, after a moment's stunned silence. "We have thrashed this out enough for one evening. I, for one, don't feel like we're going in the right direction on this." He winked conspiratorially at Joseph and rose to his feet. "Let's reconvene tomorrow and we will plan a more competent strategy for dealing with Her Majesty's defense. I don't feel comfortable with where you are going with this. We cannot risk your freedom with such flimsy conjecture, Your Majesty."

Clarisse smiled gamely at the Prime Minister. "I agree Sebastian. I think you are tilting at windmills Joseph. I need you to be supportive of what Sebastian is planning for my defense. My staff is at your service, Sebastian. You have carte blanche."

"Very well, we'll be leaving, then." He stepped towards Clarisse and bent to kiss her hand. When he rose, she surprised him with a swift, heartfelt hug.

"Thank you so much, Sebastian," she told him. "You can't imagine what your support means to me right now."

"You will always have my support, Your Majesty." He bowed low and left the room, followed by his assistant.

Clarisse turned to Charlotte and Joseph. Charlotte gathered her papers. "I'll leave with the Prime Minister, Your Majesty. I'm sure Joseph will want to make a survey of the security arrangements here, before he leaves."

Clarisse raised an eyebrow and smiled at Charlotte. "You're sure you don't want to stay?"

"Yes ma'am. I need to get back to the palace and process the paperwork you signed this evening." She grinned at the two of them. "I'll see you as soon as I can – hopefully tomorrow?" With that she turned and practically ran out the door.

Clarisse clasped her hands in front of her and cleared her throat nervously.

"Well, if this were a soap opera," Joseph said, he voice dropping into a husky parody of himself, "I think my next line would be 'Alone at last…'."

Clarisse burst into laughter. "Oh, Joseph! I needed to laugh."

He looked at his watch. "We have a little time left before I turn into a pumpkin – why don't you tell me about the security arrangements?" As he spoke he crossed the room and took her by the elbows, pulling her into a small, windowless hallway, which shielded them from outside view.

"Oh, well, much less secure than the palace, I'm sure." She smiled uneasily at him. Actual security seemed to be the last thing on his mind.

"I can guarantee you're less secure here than you are there. We have video cameras, and I don't see any here." He kissed her softly on the cheek and moved his hands up her arms to her shoulders. "How many doors are there?"

"Oh, um, two, I think," was her somewhat shaky reply. Joseph was kissing her jaw-line. "There's the front door – the one you came in…" she gasped as he touched a particularly sensitive spot.

"A nice door, that one," he said. He pulled back from her slightly and shifted his attentions to the other side of her face. "It's always one of my favorites." He began to caress the back of her neck with his hand.

"Umm-hmmm," was her breathy reply. "There is also a back door."

"Spicy," he murmured into her neck.

"What?" she gasped.

"Spice garden?" he asked innocently.

"I don't know! I think it opens into the garden…" Her knees began to buckle. She backed up against the wall, holding tightly to the lapels of his jacket, pulling his body closer.

"How many guards?" he asked gruffly. He tickled her earlobe with his tongue.

"Several."

"Ohhh, Your Majesty," his voice tickled her neck. "You can do better than that."

"F-four? Five?" She was losing concentration on the conversation. Did he actually expect her to have coherent thoughts while his mouth was doing such delicious things to her?

"See what I mean? I've always said you should pay more attention to security matters, Your Majesty." He pulled back to look at her as he spoke. Her hands moved up to the sides of his face, fingers toying with the hair at the back of his neck.

"You make a very good point, Joseph. I shall endeavor to spend more time on these types of discussions with you." She pulled him to her, and slowly pressed her lips against his. Her kiss was gentle at first, but quickly moved to firm and passionate.

He broke their kiss and replied, "I will make a point of bringing you up to speed on the video monitoring system we have at the palace."

He pressed his body down the length of hers, and lowered his head once again to attack the skin where her shoulder met her neck. She breathed his name softly and gripped his shoulders tightly. "Please see that you do, _immediately _upon my arrival back home."

Eventually, his kisses worked their way back up to her face. His beard stroked her cheek gently. "I can't imagine how you could find security issues any less than scintillating, Your Majesty," he said. "After all, my greatest _desire_ as your _body_guard is the absolute and total guardianship of your complete… personal…safety."

She laughed gently at his innuendos. He joined her laughter while wrapping his arms around her, crushing her to his chest. Finally she pulled back and tilted her head up to look at him. "Thank you, Joseph. I couldn't survive this without you," she said.

"It's my pleasure, Your Majesty," he replied, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You mean everything to me, Clarisse. I will do anything I can to make you happy." His eyes pierced hers. "Anything."

She hugged him to her and buried her face against his shoulder. "Thank you," she whispered again. She could feel hot tears stinging her closed eyelids. She held him tighter, determined not to give in to the tears.

Joseph reached up to stroke her hair. As he did so, he could see the face of his wristwatch. The traitorous device showed him the guards outside would soon be demanding his departure. He took a deep breath and began to pull away a little.

"Do you have everything you need, Your Majesty," he asked, indicating his watch as he spoke. She caught his meaning and closed her eyes in frustration.

"I'm sure everything you brought will be adequate," her voice regained its official timbre. She hugged him tightly one last time and began to move away from him. He sighed deeply and let her go.

A knock sounded at the front door.

He heard her stifled sob.

In one swift movement, he swept her into his arms once more, crushing his lips down on hers. His kiss was hot and demanding. The kiss deepened quickly and she could feel both his passion and his anger. She gave in completely, welcoming him into her mouth, into her soul.

The knock sounded again. Louder this time.

His hands clenched, his fingers digging into the skin of her back. She could feel him groan, deep in his throat. He had taken the very air from her body. When she pulled back to breathe, he stepped away and was gone. His whisper of "until tomorrow" hung in the air.


	10. Chapter 10

"I do."

She spoke the words in answer to the oath requested of her by the judge. Though she'd just sworn to the truth, it put her in mind of another oath she made with those same words. An oath to honor, cherish and, God forbid, even to obey. She'd kept that oath. She would keep this one too.

The trial was well into its second day. The prosecution laid a careful case for their contention that the Queen was to blame for the death of her husband. Now the courtroom was hushed as Clarisse stepped carefully into the witness box. Her face was an impassive mask. Sir Roderick rose ponderously and addressed the witness.

"Please state your name for the record, Your Majesty," he asked.

She complied.

He went quickly through the process of establishing her identity and her relationship to "the deceased" as he had chosen to call her husband. She answered the questions quietly and confidently, her mask of impassivity holding strong.

The tone of the questioning then changed.

"Why did you marry the deceased?"

"Why?" she repeated. "Our marriage was arranged by our parents when I was a teenager. And please stop referring to him as 'the deceased'. Rupert would've preferred you use his name." The last statement was punctuated by a flare of emotion deep in her eyes.

"How well did you know," he paused, "King Rupert before your marriage?"

"Not well. We did not meet before our fathers worked out the details of the arrangement."

"So there was no relationship between the two of you prior to your marriage?"

"No. But we met prior to any sort of public announcement. We spent time getting to know one another. Neither of us would have been forced into the marriage had we been opposed to it. This is common practice. Arranged marriages are certainly not the norm for the vast majority of the population, but our parents weren't barbarians. Had Rupert and I not both been amenable to the idea, it would have been dropped." Her voice held a hint of a challenge.

"So you lived happily ever after?" Sir Roderick shuffled papers on the table while waiting for an answer. Clarisse eyed him warily.

"No marriage, not even an arranged one, is that perfect."

Dumont smiled at her then. "And yours was far from perfect, was it not?"

"It wasn't perfect, but it was good. I was very fond of my husband. We had many wonderful years together, two wonderful children—"

He interrupted her. "Numerous affairs."

"Excuse me?"

"You knew King Rupert was unfaithful to you, did you not?"

She raised an eyebrow and kept her gaze trained on her accuser. "It happened, yes."

"More than once?"

"Yes," she replied coldly.

"Did that make you angry?"

"I am human, after all, Sir Roderick." She paused. "Contrary to popular belief."

A titter of laughter spread across the courtroom, eliciting a stern look from the Judge.

She spoke again, before Dumont could ask another question. "My husband was not a perfect man. We both made mistakes in our marriage. Perhaps his were of a type that was more obvious to the outside world. However, we cared very deeply for one another. I forgave him and we worked through the problems."

"What proof do we have of that, madam? We have only your word that you worked things out."

"Yes. You have my word." Her voice was cold and formal.

"You mentioned that both of you made mistakes. What were yours?"

Sebastion Montaz rose to his feet, holding up a hand to forestall his client's answer. "I object, Your Honor. This line of questioning is going nowhere – there is no purpose to it, other than to satisfy the salacious curiosity of the prosecutor."

Dumont answered before the Judge could speak. "It goes to show motive, Your Honor."

"Very well," the Judge ruled. "I will allow it, but be careful of your questions, sir."

Dumont nodded and turned to address the Queen once more. "Your mistakes, Your Majesty?"

She smiled coldly at the prosecutor. "I can be fairly demanding at times. I expect the very best from the people I work with and the people I care about. Sometimes I expected too much of him, perhaps. I think I was unwilling to let him be human, with human failings."

"Any affairs?"

"Certainly not!" she replied quickly and harshly.

"How noble, Your Majesty. Even your faults are not really bad things, are they?" this time Dumont's voice dripped with sarcasm. "You wanted him to be the perfect person that you are, did you not?"

Clarisse tried to take a deep breath. He was baiting her, she realized. "I expected him to be the wonderful person that he was. And he seldom let me down." She kept her voice even, her gaze steady.

"But he did let you down."

"I think you've established that already, sir," she answered swiftly.

"And he was not the only one. What about your sons, Your Majesty? You had problems with them as well?" He advanced swiftly towards her as he asked this question. His approach caught her off guard and she unconsciously pushed back from the bar.

"My sons? What parent hasn't wished their child made different choices at times in their life?" She drew herself up slightly and stared Dumont down. "However, never, never assume that I am anything less than deeply proud of the men my sons turned out to be. If you knew my children as I do, you would understand that no mother could be more pleased with her children that I was with mine."

It was Dumont's turn to step back. "You were pleased that your firstborn abdicated his duty to the throne?" he asked quietly.

"Not at the time," she admitted. "But Pierre has a duty to something more important than this earthly throne. How could I question that? Do you dare to question it?" She didn't wait for a reply. "Pierre is making a fabulous priest and will no doubt make a tremendous difference in the spiritual life of his people."

"Granted," Dumont agreed. "But your husband was not so charitable about his son's choice, was he?"

"Rupert was deeply disappointed, yes. But he and Pierre made their peace. He was proud of his son."

"You and the King argued about this, didn't you?"

"Yes," was her short reply.

"You felt he was too hard on Pierre?"

"Yes. But once Rupert got past the initial hurt and disappointment, he came to realize that Pierre was doing what he thought was right."

"And Prince Phillipe? Did he do what was right in his father's eyes? Or yours?"

Clarisse recoiled as if she'd been slapped. Sebastian again jumped to his feet. "Objection, Your Honor! Lack of relevance!"

"Denied. You may continue Mr. Prosecutor." The Judge intoned.

Clarisse didn't respond. Dumont repeated his question. "Did Phillipe do what was right?"

"Not always," Clarisse said. Her voice was quieter than before.

"Did his father feel that he had the character necessary to run the country?"

"Rupert loved Phillipe very much."

"I'm sure he did," Dumont simpered. "But he was also very angry with Phillipe's secret marriage. He threatened to disown his son, didn't he?"

Clarisse closed her eyes, mentally cursing the lack of privacy she lived under once again. Even the most private of family discussions were somehow broadcast through palace gossip.

"Yes, he did. And again, after Rupert had a chance to cool off, he thought better of it and mended his fences with Phillipe."

"Yet he still prevented you from having contact with your only grandchild?"

"It was a mutual decision," Clarisse bristled.

Dumont raised an eyebrow. He didn't press the issue verbally, but made sure the jury could read his disdain of this answer in his body language.

"So there were many times that you and His Majesty clashed during the years of your marriage?"

"No more so than in your own marriage, I'm sure," Clarisse purred at him.

"I've never had cause to murder my wife, Your Majesty." He shot back at her.

"Objection!" Motaz shouted. "The prosecutor is arguing with the witness!"

"Sustained!" the Judge agreed. "Confine your remarks to the matter at hand, Mr. Prosecutor."

Sir Roderick bowed low to the Judge and the Queen, but winked at the jury. "My apologies, sir, madam."

Clarisse used the brief interruption to take a deep breath and steal a glance at her counselor. Sebastian was glaring daggers at his adversary, but when he felt Clarisse's gaze, he smiled and nodded encouragement at her. She took a deep breath, ready to face more questioning.

"How many times did your husband cheat on you during your marriage?"

Clarisse gave a short, exasperated sigh. "I don't know."

"Too many to keep track of?"

"Absolutely not! It was counterproductive for me to dwell on that. I've already admitted that our marriage was not a fairy tale, but it wasn't a disaster, either. We were very close. We both loved our children immensely. We were committed to our country and our people," Clarisse's voice rose slightly and her eyes burned with a ferocious pride. "I find your insinuations to the contrary to be the worst kind of trash. King Rupert was a wonderful man and you are dragging his memory, not to mention his very body, through the dirt. And for what? What do you hope to gain by this?"

The jury seemed mesmerized by the emotion emanating from her. Their questioning eyes turned to the prosecutor.

"It is the protection of that very memory that brings us here today, Your Majesty. Was King Rupert a great leader?"

"Without doubt," she snapped.

"And he loved his country?"

"Yes."

"And he loved his sons?"

"Fiercely."

"Did he love you?"

"We were very, very close. He was a wonderful husband. I would do anything in my power if it would bring him back." Her eyes bored into his.

Dumont sidled up to the witness stand and asked rather casually, "Do you know that you are considered to be an extremely beautiful woman, Your Majesty?"

"I – I beg your pardon?" Clarisse was caught off guard by the sudden change of subject.

"Isn't it true that you are often described as one of the most beautiful women in all of Genovia? Perhaps in all of Europe?"

Clarisse fidgeted nervously. "What are you getting at, sir?"

Dumont pulled his body as close as possible to her. He looked her straight in the eyes and callously asked, "Why did your husband stray from the bed of such a gorgeous and loving wife?"

She blinked unseeingly at him. The air seemed to have been yanked from her body. She couldn't answer.

He moved back slightly. "Didn't it make you angry, murderously angry, that he felt the need to seek solace with other women?"

She leapt to her feet. "No!" Realizing almost instantly that this was not the behavior expected of the Queen, she bit back her anger and took her seat before continuing. "Yes, of course I was angry. I am not made of stone. But, as I have told you numerous times now, we worked it out." She took a deep breath and her voice steadied. "He was very, very good to me. I miss him terribly." A tear quivered on the end of an eyelash. She quickly brushed it away, hoping no one had noticed.

"So you say, Your Majesty. So you say…" Dumont let his voice trail off. He seemed to be waiting for her reaction. She didn't speak. After a few moments of silence he stepped closer to her. His voice was quiet, just above a whisper, yet it carried well across the anticipatory silence of the packed courtroom. "But you've never said you loved him."

He let the accusation float in the air. He turned slowly to the jury, watching their reaction. One by one he could see them replaying the testimony in their minds. The realization dawned on each face, one by one.

Clarisse felt the huge lump in her throat. She couldn't speak. Truthfully, she was almost as shocked as the spectators by the prosecutor's revelation. Finally she found her voice. It was smaller, quieter than before. "Our marriage was arranged. We were the best of friends. We shared a wonderful life together."

"But you weren't in love, were you?"

She didn't answer.

"And when he humiliated you, again and again, it wasn't as if killing him would be the same as killing a man you loved?"

"What?! No!" her voice cracked. She pulled herself up even straighter, struggling to regain control. Finally she spoke. "I did not kill my husband."

"I think you did, Your Majesty. And as evidenced by his own hand, your husband also thought you were capable of murder." Dumont turned his back to her and waved dismissively. "I am finished with this witness."


	11. Chapter 11

Joseph's mood was black and his mind was racing almost as fast as his car's engine as he sped towards the Von Troken estate. He had watched the day's testimony from his seat just behind the defense table. His hands ached from gripping the arms of his chair in an effort to remain seated through Clarisse's ordeal under the prosecutor's questioning.

He knew that any outburst from him would serve only to prejudice the Court and perhaps the jury against the Queen. But it took all of his self-control not to grab the prosecutor by the nape of the neck and beat the smirk from the man's face.

As she left the courtroom that afternoon, Joseph saw that Clarisse was as close to broken as he'd seen her yet throughout this entire ordeal. He longed to be able to reach out and comfort her. She was counting on his help, but he was at his wit's end as to what to do next. He was close to despair.

And then the phone rang.

George Roque's private number flashed on Joseph's cell phone screen. He pulled his car over to the side of the road and flipped open the phone. As he listened to Roque's news, the stone-like heaviness pressing on his chest began to lift for the first time in weeks.

At Joseph's suggestion, Roque had managed to get King Rupert's letter inspected by a forensic document examiner in London. The report had come back that afternoon. The stationery was consistent with the official palace stock. The signature was undoubtedly genuine. But the text itself had been printed on a machine that was not manufactured until almost 2 years after the King's death.

The letter was a forgery.

Joseph thanked his friend and colleague profusely before terminating the call. He leaned back into the soft leather of the driver's seat and closed his eyes. Declaring the letter a forgery would go a long ways towards getting the case against the Queen dismissed. But he still had to find the real killer if her innocence was going to be proved. He rubbed his temples briefly, feeling the tension release just a bit as he pulled back onto the highway and resumed his journey, thankful that he finally had good news for Clarisse.

ooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooo

Joseph's car was almost silent as it pulled to a stop in front of the Queen's "prison". He stepped out and went to the front door. The guard on duty nodded to him.

"I think Her Majesty is out in the back garden," he said in a friendly tone.

Joseph stopped in mid-stride, his blood turning ice cold. "You _think_? You don't _know_?"

The guard was obviously surprised by this reaction. "I, I guess so… She has a visitor."

Joseph cursed and turned on his heel, running silently towards the back of the house. His hand was on his gun, just in case. This whole situation was becoming more intolerable by the moment. He heard voices as he drew closer to the back of the cottage. Some instinct, he couldn't put a name to it, made him stop and listen, rather than announcing his presence.

He heard Clarisse laugh slightly, sounding tired but still genuinely amused.

Another laugh, this one heartier, joined her.

"You're a good friend, Andre," Clarisse said. "I would not have thought anyone could make me laugh today."

"I'm an excellent friend, Clarisse," he said lightly. Then his voice dipped to a softer timber. "I could be more, you know."

"Oh, Andre…I…"

Joseph could hear the hesitation in her voice. It was that hesitation that kept his feet rooted in place.

"Don't 'Oh, Andre' me! I can read your mind, Clarisse. I know what you are thinking." Lord Sadique's voice was still light and bantering, but there was a tinge of seriousness to what he was saying. "You think I'm younger than you, that we're only friends and that you certainly aren't in love with me."

"Well, that's a fairly complete list. You've saved me the trouble," Clarisse responded dryly.

"But I'm not saying we should get married – not some big, involved affair of state or anything."

"_Affair_ of state?" she questioned him archly.

He laughed. "I just want to take you away from all this, my dear. You know you don't have to subject yourself to this humiliation. You can leave now, and never spend another night imprisoned. I know you don't love me, I can accept that. But you are fond of me, and we're good friends. We could gallivant across Europe until the end of our days and never have to worry about any of this ever again." Sadique's voice became slightly wistful. "We could have such fun together, my dear Clarisse."

Joseph heard footsteps. Evidently Clarisse rose from where she was seated and moved closer to his hiding place along the side of the cottage. When she spoke, her voice sounded much closer.

"Andre, please! I'm not going to leave the throne and run away with you. Not with you or anyone else. I have a duty to perform."

"You can't perform that duty from prison, Clarisse."

"That won't happen."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I'm innocent. And I have some very good people out there right now, no doubt, working to clear my name."

"Clarisse, why not…"

"No Andre, I won't back down." Her voice betrayed her frustration. "I won't run away. I will fight for justice for Rupert until my final day if I have to. I did _not_ kill my husband, but somebody did. And _by God_, I will make the killer pay for it." She sighed heavily and both were silent for a few moments. Then she laughed apologetically, once again sounding tiredly amused. "Andre, we are good friends. You've known me twenty years. You're right, I could never fall in love with you – I can read you like a book. I know you too well – we've been friends to long to ever be lovers. We could never be happy together."

Joseph's stomach jolted. She knew him to well to for them to be _lovers_? 'W_hat the hell did that mean?_' he wondered. Was it just Andre or could she not fall in love with any man who she knew 'too well'? The thoughts coursing through his head almost drowned out Sadique's reply.

"Ah, but do you really know me, Clarisse? Really?" he asked quietly. She didn't reply. When he continued, his voice resumed its normal good-natured tone. "Who are you putting your faith in, my dear? Joseph? Minister Motaz? They are hardly seasoned investigators. Certainly they are good friends, but what can they really do? Sebastian is doing his best, but it's been so long since he's been involved in a criminal trial that he's a bit rusty. Joseph is running around all over the country trying to get a lead on Fierre, but he still hasn't figured out how someone made such a perfect forgery of that letter. You are putting your trust in people who care for you, but they aren't the best equipped to save you, my dear."

Until now Clarisse's voice had been light, not really taking the discussion seriously. "I have complete faith and trust in Joseph," she said solemnly.

"Maybe that faith is misplaced, Clarisse."

"No, Andre. That faith is one thing I will always be able to rely on. I trust him everyday with my life, because that is his job. But my faith is in _him_. I know what he is capable of and I know nothing would stop him from protecting me. Joseph will keep me safe. I _trust_ him."

Joseph could almost hear the smile in her voice. He knew he should announce his presence and stop eavesdropping. Just as he took a step closer, planning to do that very thing, he froze in place.

How did Sadique know about Fierre? And the forged letter – it had only been confirmed as a forgery earlier that afternoon. He was the first one Roque had called with that news. How could he have known unless – unless _SADIQUE_ was Fierre!

In one blinding flash, everything was revealed. The pieces dropped into place. His blood ran ice cold for the second time that day. His instinct was to place himself between Clarisse and Andre. Logic told him otherwise. He was the key to Clarisse's vindication, and if he failed to finish the jigsaw puzzle, Clarisse would likely end up behind bars. Joseph made a decision, then turned on his heel and silently retraced his steps. He grabbed the guard at the front by the lapels and hissed a series of commands at him. The man nodded mutely and Joseph released him.

"You get back there right now and if you let her out of your sight for as much as a second, I will personally rip you heart from your chest and boil it for breakfast. Got it? And no one – NO ONE – knows I was here."

The guard nodded again and mumbled a weak "Yes, sir" before running around to the back of the house. Joseph quickly started his car and pulled quietly away from the cottage. As soon as he was out of earshot, he pressed the accelerator to the floor. The car leaped at his command and the tires screamed in protest as he turned off of the estate's drive and onto the main road. He was headed away from the palace and towards town.

He didn't slow down until he hit the edge of town. Within minutes he was standing in George Roque's office, pacing excitedly up and down as he outlined his thoughts to the other man. They talked for almost an hour, then began making phone calls.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooo

Clarisse's guest left not long after Joseph did. She watched him as he mounted the horse he'd ridden and headed back towards Von Troken's house and stables. She was again surprised at how such a lovely man could be a blood relation of such a toad as Adolphus Von Troken.

She sighed and walked back to the front of the cottage. Still there was no sign of Joseph. Where was he? She could've sworn she had felt his presence with her earlier. When she declared her faith and trust in him she almost felt as if she was speaking directly to him. Maybe it had been her imagination run amuck – or maybe he had been there and didn't want to disturb her visit with Andre. She discarded that idea as soon as it occurred to her. He would have no reason to think his presence would ever be a disturbance. Would he?

She wanted – needed – to talk to him. His soothing voice and thoughtful eyes had a way of helping her process difficult problems. She hadn't realized before how much she relied on him for that. And why wasn't he here with her now, when she needed him most? She hated to admit how shaken she was by the day's events. The experience of being grilled by the prosecutor and making such private matters public had thoroughly unnerved her. Her conversation with Andre had also left her somewhat unsettled. She needed to talk to someone. She wanted to talk to Joseph.

She laughed at herself when it occurred to her that wasn't really true. She had no intention of just _talking_ to Joseph. Talking was highly over-rated.

Then she shook her head, trying to force those images from her mind. She'd been confined to this little cottage for far too long. At first she almost enjoyed the privacy and lack of contact with the outside world. That didn't last long, however. She didn't have any way to contact Charlotte or Sebastian or even Joseph. And when she did speak to any of them, it was with the full knowledge that their conversations were probably being broadcast to others.

The evening drug out before her as she ate a solitary meal, provided, as usual, by the staff from Von Troken's estate. It was a thoroughly lackluster culinary experience. Clarisse vowed that as soon as she returned home the fist thing she would do was throw a huge banquet and request all her favorites of her chef's dishes.

When she returned home…

The situation had fast passed intolerable and was careening on towards excruciating. She shook her head, refusing to give in to doubt. She trusted Joseph and Sebastian. They were going to succeed and she would be going home. Soon, hopefully. Loneliness weighed heavily on her mind, giving free reign to doubt and fear. Even the sounds in the cottage, and outside it, were magnified by the solitude.

She could see the guards on duty outside. There were two of them now, one in front and one in back. They patrolled back and forth in front of her windows every few seconds. It was becoming disconcerting – they'd all but ignored her until now. _'Why the sudden change?'_ she wondered. And what about Joseph? She couldn't imagine why she hadn't heard from him. And she was beginning to worry.

Clarisse wandered over to the chair next to the fireplace where her needlework sat awaiting her. She'd done a tremendous amount of work on it. With a deep sigh she sat down again and picked up the needle.

"I hate needlework," she said crossly, as she started to work.

ooooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooo

The sun was setting behind heavy clouds when a grim-faced Joseph and Captain Roque, accompanied by a squadron of Roque's men, climbed aboard the coast guard cutter and headed out to sea. Their trip was much longer than usual, since this time the boats turned away from Von Troken's land and headed instead towards the ancestral estate of Lord Sadique.

They arrived at their destination in the early morning hours, catching the thugs patrolling the shore totally off-guard. They managed to subdue them without gunfire. Joseph left the mopping up of the situation to Roque's men, who were already starting the job of cleaning out the hidden shore-side warehouse.

Joseph and Roque took a small group of men and proceeded to the house atop the cliffs that lined the shore. They didn't bother to knock. Joseph simply broke the lock on the French doors opening off of the back terrace with one well-placed boot heel. He walked straight in.

He proceeded through to the entry hall to the foot of the large curved staircase. He was met by a sleepy cadre of servants, summoned by the noisy break in. Joseph eyed them evilly, daring them to make a move against him. "Perhaps you would be so kind as to summon your employer. We have matters to discuss."

The leader of the group seemed to be weighing the best course of action until Joseph flexed his fingers inside the black leather gloves. He took a step closer to the servant and reiterated his request. "I won't ask you again," Joseph hissed at the man.

The servant caught the glint of steel in Joseph's eye and quickly decided to comply. He began mounting the stairs, and Joseph followed him. The servant gestured to a closed door and said that Lord Sadique was sleeping. Joseph removed his gun from his holster, opened the door, and proceeded into the dimly lit room. He made his way quickly to the bed and held his gun just over Andre's head. In a voice so cold and harsh it was barely recognizable, he commanded, "Wake up you lying, arrogant, son of a bitch!"

Andre Sadique opened his eyes and was greeted by the menacing glare of Joseph Romero and the barrel of his gun. The normally laughing eyes betrayed Sadique's fear at the sight of Joseph's expression. Roque's men quickly moved to handcuff the man and once Sadique was restrained, Joseph took a deep breath and handed Roque his gun.

Joseph then locked eyes with his prey. "We have many things to discuss, Andre. It will save you considerable…trouble…if you answer my questions truthfully."

Sadique read the look in Joseph's eyes and suddenly understood with cold certainty why Joseph felt the need to put his firearm out of reach. He looked at his one-time friend then at the other men surrounding him. He took a heavy breath and nodded.

Dawn the next morning found Clarisse tossing fitfully. She'd not slept well and was deeply worried about Joseph. He hadn't come to her the night before. She had recurring nightmares of him being in danger or even killed. When she wasn't dreaming of Joseph's downfall, she was worried that he was having second thoughts about them. Had he avoided coming to her after their brief escapade the previous night? Was he regretting it? She was desperate for contact with him. Sebastian sent word late in the evening that he would contact her this morning and let her know what was going on. Surely everything was fine. If not, she would have heard by now. If not, she would feel it; she would know that something had happened to him. Wouldn't she?

Clarisse dressed for court, marveling at how much she found herself missing the attentions of her ladies maids. At first she had enjoyed taking care of herself, but as the days wore on, it became more and more of a chore. However, unwilling to be seen by the packed courtroom and all the news cameras outside as anything less than elegant and perfectly groomed, she continued to take the pains her appearance required.

Promptly at 7:00 a.m. there was a knock on the door and a guard presented her with her breakfast tray – orange juice, oatmeal and toast. She picked at it out of boredom more than hunger. Her nerves were frayed and despite her attempts to stay positive, fear was gnawing at her. At 8:00 a.m. the limo arrived ready to carry her to the courthouse.

She almost cried out with relief when she saw the Prime Minister waiting for her in the back seat.

"Thank God, Sebastian! I've been going crazy since yesterday afternoon! What is going on? Where have you been? And where is Joseph?" She felt a terribly undignified urge to grab him by his necktie and demand to know Joseph's whereabouts and what had happened to keep him away from her.

"I'm so sorry, Your Majesty. A lot has happened since yesterday afternoon and it was impossible to let you know what was going on without tipping off the other side." Sebastian smiled apologetically. "I spoke with Joseph briefly in the early hours of this morning. He prays that you will forgive him for not speaking with you sooner, but wants me to assure you that all will be well. He asks that you rely on your trust in him."

She took a deep breath, stifled another urge to quiz her counselor unmercifully about the circumstance of the early morning conversation and whether or not her Security Chief was in one piece. She rationalized that had anything really been wrong, Sebastian would have told her. Then she thought about Sebastian's message. Rely on her _trust_ in him. Common English usage would be to say rely on her _faith_ in him. She thought it odd that Joseph would use the word trust. She thought back to her conversation with Andre the previous day, and began to wonder. Her declaration to Andre was that she _trusted_ Joseph with her very life. Maybe Joseph _had_ visited her and overheard her conversation. Realization dawned on her that it hadn't been just a feeling of connection to Joseph she had sensed the previous day, she had sensed Joseph, himself. Relife and joy flooded her senses, but quickly stopped. The topic of conversation yesterday had also included the possibility of her running away with Andre. Surely Joseph would not have thought her that serious about Andre, not after the passionate kisses they had shared… But no – Joseph had asked her to rely on her trust and to rely on him, and that was exactly what she would do.

"I certainly hope you both have a miracle cooked up. Otherwise I think this is going to be an exercise in futility." Clarisse looked at Sebastian questioningly.

"Yesterday was not…good. But today we will fix that. Today you get to tell your side of the story." He took her hand and patted it reassuringly. "And with that, and whatever Joseph comes up with, this will soon be over. Now, let's go over my list of questions."

They discussed strategy for the remainder of the ride into town.


	12. Chapter 12

**_Author's Note: Sorry for the delay. Believe it or not the dog ate my homework. Or at the very least I think she ran off with my flash drive. I lost the drive that I had this story saved on. After two days of frantic searching, I gave up and managed - hopefully! - to reconstruct this last chapter. Thank God and Google that my deleted emails had not been trashed and I found Mellie's last revisions. So, here it is, the hopefully complete final chapter. Thank you all for your incredible reviews - they make my day and keep me writing!_**

**_-CW_**

Clarisse could feel the knot her nerves knitted in the pit of her stomach as she approached the witness stand for the second time. She knew this time the questions would come from her friend, Minister Motaz, but she couldn't help feeling exposed to public view as never before. She had never spoken about the secrets of her marriage to anyone, much less in a public forum. Facing the packed courtroom for the second time tested her composure severely.

After a few preliminaries, Motaz moved right to the heart of his questioning.

"Your Majesty, yesterday the prosecutor insinuated that you were angry with your husband King Rupert and you wanted him out of the way. You admitted that at times, there were problems between yourself and His Majesty, is that correct?"

"At times, yes. But for most of our marriage we were very happy together."

"And when His Majesty died, how did you feel?"

"Feel? I felt like anyone else would, Sebastian." Her voice held an edge of annoyance. She paused. This was not one of the questions he'd read to her in their ride over, but she recognized his strategy. He wanted her to show her feelings, to make the jury understand that she wasn't cold and uncaring; that she had the same feelings as they did. But that didn't make it any easier. "I lost my husband of more than 30 years. He…he died in my arms…"

"And did you intend to become sole reigning monarch upon the death of the King?"

"No. That was Phillipe's job. But Rupert died somewhat unexpectedly. Phillipe still had six months left in his military commitment; then he was entering a graduate school program in diplomacy and foreign relations. The school was in Paris and he felt it was imperative that he finish his education before assuming the throne. I agreed to remain on the throne until he finished the two-year program."

"So your plan was never to rule indefinitely?" Sebastian was looking at the jury as he asked this question.

"No. I had…other plans. But fate changed that." She took a deep breath and smoothed her skirt over her knee.

"How did King Rupert die?" Sebastian asked quietly.

"I always thought it was… He…he had a heart attack. His second. He wasn't…strong enough to survive a second attack."

"And did His Majesty ask you to do anything for him prior to this attack?"

"He asked me to administer some medicine for him." Her gaze softened, but her voice remained firm.

"Was this unusual?"

"Yes. He had nurses who normally supervised his medication. However, he said this particular medicine was an herbal stimulant of some sort that a friend had supplied to him. He told me he'd been using it for a while to give him a temporary boost when he needed it."

"And did you do as he asked?

"Eventually, yes."

"You've seen the autopsy report the prosecution has entered into evidence?"

"Yes."

"You understand that it shows His Majesty was poisoned?"

"Yes," she said quietly.

"And do you have any beliefs about how he was poisoned?"

"After this autopsy, my guess is that the poison would have been in that medication. I don't know for sure, but it makes logical sense." She dropped her gaze and took a deep breath. She sat silently for a moment, physically willing herself not to give in to tears. When she regained her control she lifted her head and said, "And that means I was the one who administered the final dose. _I_ put the nail in his coffin. He died…" her voice choked. "…because of me." Again she seemed to be fighting for control. The courtroom was hushed. She withdrew a handkerchief from her jacket pocket and twisted it furiously in her hands.

When she spoke again her voice had a harsh edge – as if she'd been crying. "I don't know who the so-called friend was, and I don't know what the drug was. But the evidence appears to indicate that this medication is what killed Rupert."

"And did you knowingly do anything to help with or hasten that death, Your Majesty?" Sebastian asked softly.

"No. No, I didn't," her voice regained its confident air. "He was a good man and a wonderful King. He was the father of my children and…and he was my best friend. Rupert was the one person who understood me and who I really was underneath all the…the trappings of office." She sat up even straighter in the chair.

"No matter how angry I was with him – and there were times when he made me so angry I couldn't see straight – I could never have hurt him. He meant far too much to me for that. It was hard enough to lose him so soon when I thought he died of natural causes. But to know that someone deliberately took his life – that is like losing him all over again. It is so unfair… to me, to Pierre, even to all of you," her gesture encompassed the courtroom. "Someone has taken Rupert away from me, but from all of you as well. I have not gained from this. I have lost more than you will ever know. My husband can't rest in peace – his killer is on the loose. That's what makes this so tragic. Not only was I ignorant of the fact that my husband was murdered, but now I stand accused of committing that crime. The real murderer remains free and unscathed."

There was a pause as Sebastian pondered his next question and allowed Clarisse's answer to sink in with the jury. The quiet was shattered suddenly when the doors at the back of the courtroom burst open, slamming against the walls behind them.

"Joseph!" Clarisse gasped. Her bodyguard strode purposefully into the room, black trench coat billowing out behind him like a cape. He leaned close to the minister's ear and they had a quick whispered conference.

"Mr. Romero! You will enter this courtroom with respect and in silence! I will hold you in contempt for disrupting these proceedings without batting an eye, am I understood?" The judge favored Joseph with a harsh glare. Joseph gave him a curt nod but didn't turn his attention away from the Prime Minister. He handed Sebastian a small sheaf of papers and again whispered in his ear. They were interrupted by the judge. "Minister Motaz?" the judge said testily after a few moments. "Your witness awaits."

"Just one moment, please Your Honor," Sebastian said. He and Joseph whispered together a moment longer. Then Sebastian got to his feet and started to address the Court. For the first time since he'd entered the courtroom, Joseph looked directly at Clarisse. A smile warmed his face and he gave her a slow deliberate wink.

At the sight of that smile, Clarisse finally relaxed the death grip she had on the arms of her chair.

Sebastian spoke, "Your Honor, I realize this is unusual, but Mr. Romero has provided information as to the identity of the person responsible for the death of King Rupert. That person is now in custody and has signed a full confession. We have that confession here. The confession was witnessed by Mr. Romero himself, as well as several other police officials. If it pleases the Court, the defendant would like to offer this confession as defendant's exhibit one and we move that the charges against Her Majesty be dropped immediately."

Clarisse closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened her eyes, the prosecutor was pouring over the written confession and Sebastian was standing next to the witness stand in front of her. Her eyes quickly scanned for Joseph, and her heart leaped with joy when she found him standing behind her, in his customary position. Joseph stood with his arms crossed in front of his chest, looking every bit like a disinterested security guard. But she could see the wrinkles around his eyes deepen as he fought to keep his expression neutral.

Finally the prosecutor looked up from the paperwork, took a deep breath and said, "The Crown has no objection to the defendant's motion for charges to be dismissed."

The judge stared open-mouthed at the prosecutor for a long, tense moment. Then he rapped his gavel. "Case dismissed!" The courtroom erupted into thunderous cheers and applause. Clarisse couldn't move. Not until Joseph stepped up beside her, his hand on her arm. She looked up into his eyes.

"Is it over, Joseph? Really over?"

"Yes, it is Your Majesty. Now, please stand up and let me take you home."

He grinned and she stood up, threw her arms around his neck, and hugged him hard. She whispered in his ear, "I will always trust you Joseph, and I had faith that you wouldn't let me down." Suddenly, she realized that they were in a very public place. She quickly released him, tugging at the hem of her jacket as she stepped back.

Sebastian was ginning at them. Clarisse looked from one man to the other. "Can one of you gentlemen let me borrow a phone?" she asked. "I need to call my chef."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The impromptu dinner for the staff and the newly released Queen was a rousing success. The drinks flowed freely and the laughter was loud and carefree. Clarisse watched all from her seat at the head of the table, reveling in the sights and sounds of celebration.

It had been a long, hard day. No one spoke the name of the killer while they were in the courtroom. Clarisse somehow sensed that this was something she didn't want to be told while out in public. She didn't ask Joseph who it was until they were safely ensconced in the back of the limo, cut off from public view. It broke her heart to learn of the betrayal of someone she had trusted and cared for. But that heartbreak paled in comparison to her anger. She wanted Andre hanged. She wanted him beaten. She wanted him to hurt.

Joseph let her vent. He listened patiently while she ranted and raved. Finally, her initial anger spent, she went for a long, solitary walk in her garden, mourning her losses once again. Joseph watched over her from afar, savoring the sense of peace he felt for the first time in weeks. She was home and she was safe.

The casual banquet that Clarisse requested was pulled together magnificently by the kitchen staff. The chef had promised her all her favorite foods and delivered in spades. She made sure the palace wine cellars were fully utilized and that everyone working in the palace had the evening off to eat together and celebrate as one huge family. Finally, when she couldn't stifle her yawns any longer, she gave a last toast to her staff, then rose and headed for her rooms.

She tried to be surreptitious as she surveyed the revelers, looking for Joseph. There was no sign of him. She walked slowly up the grand staircase, trailing her fingers along the smoothly polished banister. The sound of her footsteps echoed slightly in the deserted corridors.

She stopped at the end of the hallway, looking towards the doors of her suite. He was waiting for her there. She couldn't help but smile as she finally realized what he had known all along. There were no footmen or guards on duty. They were all at dinner.

She would be unprotected here, and more importantly, she would be all alone.

"I assume you neglected your dinner because you were worried that my empty rooms were languishing up here, unsecured and unprotected?

"Yes ma'am. You see, I knew you would end up here eventually and I didn't want you to be without your personal security any longer. That has happened far too often in recent days. Besides, you previously suggested additional security discussions, and it is obvious that this area of your knowledge is sadly, sadly deficient, Your Majesty. You gave all my men the night off. That means I have to take up for their slack."

She could see the ghost of a smile on his lips as she traversed the distance between them. "You are always so efficient and knowledgeable, Joseph. Does this mean you have to spend the night out here in this cold, dark hallway?"

"I'm afraid so. You may not know this, but my employer is a real slave driver. I wouldn't dare desert my post." He was grinning widely at her now.

"Good for you," she said and patted his cheek somewhat absently with one hand as she opened her door with the other. "Well, have a lovely evening. I'll see you tomorrow, I'm sure." With that she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

Joseph stood staring after her, slightly open-mouthed. The moment stretched out immeasurably. Finally he chuckled to himself and leaned back against the wall next to the door, hands thrust deep in his pockets.

It wasn't long until the door opened once again and she eyed him appraisingly from the threshold. "Seriously, Joseph, how long are you prepared to stand there?" she asked, her eyes twinkling merrily.

He looked over and raised an eyebrow at her. "Would you rather I sit?" He began to slide slowly down the wall. She burst out laughing and grabbed his arm, pulling him towards the door.

"Come inside and keep me company. I'm tired of being alone," she said. He followed her inside, hesitating at the door to her bedroom, unsure if she meant for him to follow her in there.

She didn't notice his hesitation until she grasped the bedpost for balance while leaning over to remove her shoes. She smiled at him and beckoned him inside with one of the shoes. "Please come in. I won't be a moment." She removed the second shoe and padded her way across the thick carpet to her dressing room.

She kept up a stream of light, meaningless conversation as she puttered about in the dressing room. He couldn't tell what she was doing, but assumed she must be changing clothes. Joseph tried to remind his body of the mechanics of respiration – breathe in, breathe out – as he waited. He'd been in her bedroom before, but only when he sat with her through an illness or the long night of grief following the death of Phillipe. He'd never been in here with her when she was, well, fully conscious. He continued to stand at the foot of her bed, hands clasped in front of his body.

Clarisse fumbled about in the dressing room, looking for something to wear. She kept talking as a means of occupying her racing mind. She didn't want to think about what she was doing. What was she doing, anyway? She wasn't sure. She just knew she needed to be with Joseph, here and now, and everything else be damned.

She finally managed to put on a pair of lounging pajamas. They were perfectly presentable and covered more skin than the dress she'd been wearing, but her face flushed at the thought of wearing only pajamas with Joseph in her bedroom. _'What the hell am I doing?'_ she asked herself again. She slipped into a soft cotton robe, belting it tightly around her waist. Sucking in a deep breath, she stepped back out into the bedroom.

'_Oh, God!'_ she thought, running a hand nervously through her hair. '_Now what?'_ She marveled at the way Joseph stood at the foot of her bed – utterly calm, cool and collected. Didn't he know how his very presence made a shambles of her composure?

Joseph looked up as Clarisse came into the room. _'Oh, God!'_ he thought as she smiled at him and ran a hand seductively through her hair. _'Now what?'_ He marveled at the way she looked elegant and majestic, even when wearing a simple robe and pajamas. '_Pajamas?!_' Didn't she know what she was doing to him? Didn't she realize how dangerous the situation had become?

Clarisse cleared her throat somewhat nervously as she crossed the room to pick up a remote control from her bedside table. She gestured with it towards the television mounted on the wall opposite the bed. "Shall we see what the evening news has to say about all of this?"

He nodded mutely and followed her lead, taking a seat on the foot of the bed. They both leaned back against opposite bedposts, each unconsciously moving as far from the other as possible while still remaining on the bed. The screen came alive and showed the talking head who hosted the evening news cast.

The commentator was soon replaced by a smiling George Roque who'd held a press conference earlier in the afternoon detailing the arrests made in the case. Then the newscaster's face filled the screen again.

"Queen Clarisse was completely exonerated as a result of the investigation spear-headed by Captain Roque and the Head of Palace Security, Joseph Romero," he intoned. The scene then switched to a shot of the Queen leaving the courthouse earlier that day on Joseph's arm, flanked by Prime Minister Motaz. She smiled brilliantly as she acknowledged the throng of well-wishers who filled the street. "Several members of Parliament have issued statements tonight praising the judicial system for a successful outcome and reiterating their long-held faith in Her Majesty's innocence."

Clarisse gave a rather inelegant snort of laughter at that statement. Joseph couldn't help but smile at her. Then a photo of Andre being hauled away in a police car in the early hours of the morning was posted behind the anchorman's head.

Clarisse sighed heavily. "Andre… Yesterday I would have told you he was one of the very few people in my life that I could count as friends. As family, almost. And today I learn how completely he's betrayed me. And Rupert…" Her voice trailed off.

"He fooled us all, Clarisse," Joseph said compassionately. "He was consumed by greed, although he hid it very well. The story I got out of him was that his uncle's death revealed a sheaf of debt that left him all but bankrupt. Rather than rebuild his fortune through legal means, he turned to the quick money he could get through the drug trade. He had all the right contacts, on both sides of the law. The man is a chameleon, able to adapt to whatever society he is in."

She nodded sadly. "Yesterday I told him I could read him like a book. Today, I feel like that book was a work of fiction – complete and utter lies."

The news anchor continued, "What remains unclear this evening is the fate of Baron Adolphus Von Troken. He asserts, through his attorney, that his involvement in the scheme to implicate Her Majesty was an innocent mistake and that he was duped by his cousin, Lord Andre Sadique, into complicity with the plan. At last report, the Baron was still in the custody of Captain Roque and undergoing extensive questioning. Von Troken has agreed to full cooperation with The Crown in hopes of avoiding prosecution."

"That little weasel will probably manage to get out of serving any jail time," Joseph groused at the screen.

"No doubt," Clarisse sighed then she laughed. "At least I managed to get out of serving time, as well!"

Joseph looked at her and smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Don't even joke about that, Clarisse," he said seriously.

She smiled warmly at him then. "I was never really worried about it."

"Liar!" he said.

She shook her head in reply. "I always had confidence in you. I…I rely on you more than you know, Joseph. This was a horrible experience, but I never doubted you and I _never_ stopped trusting you."

It was his turn to laugh, somewhat sourly. "I wish you could've given me some of that confidence. I've never been more worried in my life!" His head was lowered as he spoke and he studied the toes of his black boots, contemplating what could have happened.

Clarisse watched him silently for a moment, struck by the realization of what he must be feeling. He seemed to sense her gaze and turned his eyes to hers. They shone with a faint sheen of unshed tears. Something in that gaze broke through her wall of inhibition and before she knew what was happening, she crossed the distance between them and captured his lips in a tantalizing kiss. Her hands moved from the sides of his face, down his neck and inside the collar of his shirt. She could feel the shudder that ran through his body as she touched his skin.

He reached up and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer. She deepened the kiss; giving herself over to the white heat she could feel building inside her core. He responded in kind, tasting and teasing her. One hand entangled in her hair, the other caressed her lower back.

When they finally broke the kiss, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. "I owe you so much, Joseph! Thank you for…for everything," she said.

"You're quite welcome." He pulled back from her, and looked into her eyes, then asked the question that had been haunting him since yesterday. "You said that you knew Lord Sadique too well for you to be lovers." She nodded somewhat quizzically and he leaned in close again, his lips grazing her skin just below her jaw line. "Do you know _me_ too well?" His voice tickled the nape of her neck, sending fabulous shivers chasing down her spine.

"Oooooh Joseph, I know you so well that it scares me." She pushed away from him rather reluctantly, but she needed to look into his eyes. "Yes, I knew Andre like a book – a fiction one apparently. But I know you like a book as well. You're that one book that has always sat on the shelf, patiently awaiting its turn to be read. Others have appeared to be the story that I needed to read, or even wanted to read, only to leave me unsatisfied. You are the book I've always wanted to read, but I never had the chance. I've read your synopsis and it's thrilling and intriguing. But your pages are a mystery to me, and I find that highly _stimulating,_" she grinned wickedly at him. This elicited a laugh from Joseph, a deep sensual sound that she found irresistible. She leaned in and kissed the side of his neck. At the touch of her mouth, his laugh turned to a soft groan. She moved her mouth back to his and promptly lost track of time and space.

Joseph's hands caressed her shoulders and her neck. Finally he shifted away from her slightly and looked at her, his eyes asking a silent question as his hands slipped inside her robe. He felt her body stiffen and saw the doubt creep into her eyes. He bit back a sigh and moved his arms away from her body.

Clarisse cursed herself silently. She knew she'd done the wrong thing. But he made her so nervous, so scared. "Joseph, I think it's time I took you off the shelf and began reading you." She took a deep breath and leaned closer, wrapping her arms around him and pulling his head down to hers. Their lips met in another fiery kiss. She wanted him to know how badly she desired him; to know that the desire was much stronger than the fear.

But he pulled away from the kiss, reached up and grasped her wrists, untangling her arms from his neck and pushing her away from him. She looked at him quizzically. "What's wrong?" she asked.

His eyes burned and his gaze raked over her body. "Be careful with this, Clarisse. Don't start this story unless you are prepared for me to finish it," his voice was soft, but there was an unmistakable challenge in his tone.

She grasped his shoulders and pulled his body with her as she lay back on the bed. Her mouth covered his and her body surrendered as she realized that was the sexiest thing she'd ever heard him say.

The End.


End file.
